Americans are by their nature entrepeneurs. No matter how dire a situation might be, no matter how extreme the solutions are, someone somewhere will try to make a profit from it, and most of the time they are successful. At the height of the terror caused by the girl gangs, when groups with memberships in the hundreds and names like "The Jingas" and "The Stryker Girls" were the scourge of the streets, many states passed poorly-conceived laws out of sheer panic. One of these, in force for several years in quite a few states, mandated the death penalty not only for a girl designated as a gang member, but for her sisters--if she had any--as well. Legislators felt that concern for their siblings would act as a deterrent for girls who might otherwise join the gangs, but the end result was merely that many innocents were dragged away and mercilessly killed.
The profit-seekers were quick to take advantage. There was considerable money to be made in those days in smuggling girls out of countries where women were simply be slaughtered almost at random to those where things were at least a bit more organized, and this was quickly and easily extended to moving the sisters of gang members out of the United States. But immigration laws had not been changed, and since virtually all crime by any female was punishable by death, being identified as an illegal was itself automatically a death sentence. But there was more, too; the exploitation of female demise by the entertainment industry was still to come, but the interest was already there, and more than one entrepeneur did not wait for the laws to catch up to the markets. Certainly, what they did was illegal, but the authorities, having been saved the trouble of tracking down fugitives and the expense of executing them, tended to look the other way. For a time, such businesses flourished...
It is a very odd mixture of emotions I feel right now: Ashamed, hopeless, scared, a little sick to my stomach, and incredibly enough, sexually aroused. I know the last one is hard to believe, but it's there. Maybe it's the finality of it. Maybe it's the thought of how this is going to end. I don't know.
I hand my ticket to the girl in the corridor who is wearing too much make-up and wearing too little clothing; it makes her look like a whore. And when I enter this cellar room I want to turn around and leave. It is hot and humid and far too crowded for me to be comfortable. And, as my eyes survey the room, I see the only place to sit is in the centre of the room on the stone floor right in front of something covered by a black sheet.
I guess rightly that this sheet covers the device that will be used tonight on one who is willing, like I am willing. But the tight confines and too many people make this a place I cannot be. But as I turn to go, she enters and I know it is her--the one we all will watch tonight. She is small and average, her nose like a little button and her body thin and lithe. She wears the clothing most teen girls wear: jeans, sneakers, a long T-shirt pulled down over her hips, and a lime green jean jacket. As she passes me, brushing against my hip because it is so crowded, I smell the mixture of old and fresh fear-sweat and body odour. This girl hasn't bathed in days, I think, but yet I am attracted to her--I feel a kinship. Without thinking I reach up and stroke her cheek and feel its sweet softness.
I follow her to the centre of the room, set down my heavy purse, and lower myself to sit cross-legged on the floor as she goes to stand beside Johannes.
I didn't realize there'd be so many people here to watch and never would I imagine that they wanted to be so close to something like this. I mean, they're packed in so tight that it's hard to breathe in this cellar room that looks like a dungeon. Some are so close that they can touch me. Some have touched me--little gentle touches on my arms and hip as I moved through them to the little stage area. One girl stroked my cheek as I went past her. Maybe they touch me because they want to know I'm real--that I'm really going to do this. Or maybe it's to connect with me in some way. I don't know that either.
One thing I'm very surprised at is that so many other girls want to watch what is going to happen to me. But here they are. Of the thirty or so people in the room at least twenty of them are girls ranging in age from mid-teens to their mid twenties.
I don't really want to be here, but I've reached a point, like so many girls today, of giving up hope. It's almost a crime to be a girl nowadays.
It's not fair.
So I stand here as Johannes strips the clothes from me that I've been wearing for a week. The closest people are sitting on the floor at my feet and those behind them are sitting on benches, and behind them some stand or lean against the walls. I'm pretty grubby and I wonder if they can smell my body odour.
"Tell them who you are and why you're here," Johannes instructs me as he lifts my jacket and slides it off my shoulders.
"My name is Tracylynne... but people call me Trace. I'm eighteen... and I've lived in Las Vegas all my life," I stammer as I stare at the floor, nervous about speaking to all these people. I've always been an introvert, so public speaking isn't my thing. Honestly, I can't even say what my thing is, but it sure as hell isn't this. Johannes is now pulling my top up over my head, so I'm cut off from the room for a few seconds, and I'm embarrassed because I know the armpits of my top are stained. People living in fear sweat a lot.
"I found out three weeks ago that... well, that there's a warrant for me to go... to be taken to the Female Centre in the Pahrump Valley for... processing." The word kind of catches in my throat--it's so cold and dehumanizing. "I was one of the Dice Chicks."
When I mention the girl-gang I get oohs and ahhs and some smiles. Yeah--I'm a big time criminal--standing here a lot scared and a little horny and a little sick in my dirty sneakers, jeans, and bra.
"They wanted to take my sister too... but, see... she didn't do anything wrong. She's only ten, for fuck's sake." My chin quivers and my eyes brim with tears. Fuck. I hate this. I hate being emotional in front of people--especially strangers. And I feel so ashamed.
Johannes unhooks my bra and it releases, my small boobs droop just a little bit as my bra flips forward and slides down. I wiggle my arms and let it drop to my feet. I won't be needing that anymore.
"We ran and they chased us... but Johannes found us before they did... he said if I do this they will get Jill out of here and up to Canada. So... that's who I am and that's why I'm here."
"Jill is in one of our safe houses with one of our families. She'll be smuggled up to Canada by one of the Runner Crews and our people up there will find her a family," Johannes says, filling in the rest of the deal as he kneels and unbuttons my jeans and pulls down the zipper. Johannes tips his head to indicate I should pull my jeans down. As I do, he looks up at me. "We're sorry this happened to you, Trace. And we're sorry we can't save you too, but at least this way you get a choice. And the income from your show pays for Jill's safe transport," he says, more for the crowd than for me, I think. Make them feel the money they paid to be here goes to a good cause.
I know he's full of shit--he's a promoter of these kind of underground shows and makes money at it. Another girl who I met in the safe house he had me in told me that he was promoting my show as "The Penetration Station." Hers was called "Belly Dance of Death," and the night I met her she left with Johannes and never came back. So I sat in that dump of a house with no electricity and no running water and twenty-four hours later, here I am.
"Did you really choose what is going to happen to you?" one of the girls sitting at my feet asks.
I nod. "Yeah, I was given some... choices, and I figured this one was best for me," I say as I wiggle my bum and peel my jeans down over my hips then cover the crotch of my panties with my hand--I know they're yellowed and stained--hell, I can smell myself. Johannes pulls my jeans the rest of the way to my ankles and holds them while I steady myself with one hand on his shoulder and step out of them, still wearing my sneakers.
"How do you think it will feel?" another girl asks.
"I dunno," I say. But I think, 'How the fuck do YOU think it's going to feel?' as Johannes peels my grotty panties down over my thighs and calves and I step out of those too. "I'm not thrilled with knives, or hanging. And I like..." I stop--I can't say it.
But Johannes says it for me. "She wants to be penetrated. Every girl's dream right?" That gets some laughs, "And as for how it feels... for most girls it's very sexual during the beginning and middle stages. For a few, even the ending is sexually stimulating."
I feel my cheeks get hot as I blush. Okay--there it is, I'm a slut. What can I say? It's so hard to find a guy who will fuck me. With all the beautiful showgirls in Vegas, who wants to fuck a little pug nosed frump like me?
I have come here to see what it is like to die this way. It has been my fantasy lately, but I know sometimes fantasy and reality are very different things. I visited Johannes because, like this girl, I too have a warrant--but mine is because I came from Mexico to escape the wholesale torture and slaughter of my gender there. I heard the United States is more merciful. I wonder if this is Johannes' version of mercy.
Johannes of course offered to make me the centerpiece of a show like this girl Trace, but I am not so inclined to be a money-maker for him. Also, I want my passing to be an intimate thing and I told Johannes so. He said he understood and instead sold me a device that would meet my needs. It is heavy in my purse that sits on the floor beside me.
I admit I was both afraid and excited to use it, and I intended to that very night. But as I lay in bed with this device imbedded sweetly deep within my body, I could not bring myself to push the button that would trigger the clockwork timer within. Afterward I hated myself for that cowardice. All my worries could have ended that night. All my torment. All my fear.
So here I am, about to watch a girl as young as myself undergo what I feared to do to myself. Am I seeking reasons not to? Or do I seek inspiration?
I sit cross-legged on the floor, almost at her feet and gaze up at her. I love her body--it is tight and lithe and so very much alive. She is thin enough for me to see the muscles of her body moving under her skin. Her name is Trace and I love her name too.
Johannes stands up and pulls the sheet off the apparatus and the crowd reacts--they're suddenly excited, so I figure it's a first for most of them. I haven't seen this thing yet either--Johannes only described it to me. I can't help it--I turn and look at it.
There's a padded bench on a bit of an angle covered in fake leather. I can see ankle and wrist restraints and a leather strap dangling from under the bench and that kind of alarms me. Johannes said they don't require the restraints unless the girl becomes combative, and that at the end some girls ask for them to be put on. The jury is out on that one for me--I don't know if I can go all the way without help but I sure mean to try.
But the thing that gets the biggest reaction is the machine at the foot of the bench. There's a big electric motor and some kind of gearbox with a five foot cast iron shaft sticking out of it. And yeah--I'm sure you can imagine the angle it's on--when I lay down on that bench the shaft will be pointed right at my crotch.
Johannes picks up a control box and turns the machine on. The motor begins humming quietly and he demonstrates, he makes the shaft slowly extend upward, running parallel with the bench surface. He then turns a dial and it starts thrusting in short strokes, then longer ones, then faster long ones.
"And for the finale..." He hits a switch on the side of the bench and the shaft starts vibrating so hard it becomes a blur, and it slowly extends until four feet of it is hanging rigid over the length of the bench.
I can see that Trace is suddenly afraid. Her face and belly are paling as she stares at the machine and I hope she does not try to run--that would be ugly, to see her forced. I want so much to stand and touch her--to comfort her--to make her believe she is not alone. But I don't know the etiquette here. Are we permitted to touch? To comfort? To perhaps sexually arouse?
My legs are weak now and I'm feeling faint as Johannes resets the machine so the shaft is back down at the starting position. He offers his hand and guides me to the bench as the onlookers get excited and talk amongst themselves.
I'm shaking now and feeling very very frightened as I straddle the bench and settle my bum on it.
"A little lower. It'll push you up, so you have to start low," he explains as I scootch my butt closer to the shaft. "Now, just lay back, Trace."
I lay back and my skin is sticking to the fake leather. I see the foot pedals and settle my sneakers onto them. Positioned that way my thighs are naturally open a bit. Johannes takes my hand and guides it to the switch under the bench.
"That's the switch for the finale program. Once you push it, there's no stopping this thing. We hope you'll push it yourself when you're ready," he says with as much emotion as the guy who takes your ticket at the fairground (Keep your hands inside the car at all times). "If you want the restraints when the time comes, just ask for them. Most girls ask for the leather pelvis strap. It puts pressure on the g-spot and helps get them through it."
I nod at all the instructions that are barely making sense, trying to calm down my fear.
"Until then, I control the machine--I'm pretty good at it, so it will build gradually. You'll be fine." He gives my shoulder a little squeeze and I move my hand away from the hidden switch so I don't trigger it by accident--although a small part of me feels the impulse to push it now and get it all over with. But no, not yet. I hope parts of this will be pleasurable. Johannes told me that most girls are sexually exhausted when they push the button and it goes better for them than the ones who push it too early.
As the audience settles in, the girl who took their tickets as they entered steps forward with a big tube that says "Astroglide" on it and squeezes a big glob of the clear goop into her palm and coats the whole length of the shaft with it. Then she squeezes another glob onto her hand and without even asking, cups my sex and pushes some of it into me, then smears the rest all over my crotch. She gives me a fake smile and leaves--to wash her hands, I assume.
This assistant to Johannes doesn't care, she prepares Trace like she is simply a sexual object to be used to make money. I ask forgiveness for my sin as I wish upon this assistant the same fate as we face. That one day she will have to choose this way of death and experience these things while others watch.
"Ready?" I hear Johannes' voice say.
"Ready?" Johannes asks, as he crouches beside me.
I take a deep breath and let it out. I nod and stare at the electric motor and the cast iron shaft.
"Gentlemen and ladies, we are beginning," Johannes announces and turns on the machine. The big cylinder starts a deep humming and the shaft starts to move toward me. "Ease yourself down on it, Trace," Johannes instructs as he watches intently. So I scootch a bit lower and lift my bum and angle my hips. The shaft feels so slippery and warm when it parts my labia and opens my vulva. It's right there, so I lower my bum and settle in. Johannes does something and the shaft slides deep in one slow smooth motion and...
"...Ah!..." Oh-my-god, it fills me, and keeps filling me. He fiddles with the controls a bit and it slowly pushes deeper, stretching me inside. "...Oh, gawd..." Then it eases back out a bit and my toes curl inside my sneakers.
Though I am sexually aroused by this girl and have made love with many, many women when loneliness brought us together, it is the feeling of a hard thick cock penetrating me that I crave and love the most. And watching Trace's face as this iron cock opens her sex and pushes up into her body, I can see she feels what I crave to feel.
My thoughts go to the device in my purse--its thickness and rigidity, it being a perfect exaggerated sculpture of the penis belonging to a goliath of a man, complete with ridged veins and a thick bulbous head. And within it is the hidden lethal mechanism that when triggered will put an end to my life. I am tempted, but I still long for the intimacy that this room lacks.
But Trace, sweet Trace, is living my fantasy now, right in front of me.
I look past my sneakers and see the rapt face of an olive-skinned brunette who looks younger than me. She is sitting cross-legged on the floor right in front of me and wearing a white, loose, lace-trimmed skirt that covers her from her waist to her knees and a white top that is light and tight and clings to her upper body so I can see her nipples. Her mouth is hanging open and her eyes are transfixed on my face. I can see that she is feeling the lust; wanting to be in my place. I let out a little whimper as Johannes sets the machine to start fucking me slowly--in and out, in and out--slow and steady. And, I have to admit, it feels so good. That Astroglide is amazing stuff--I can feel the rough surface of the iron shaft, but it isn't irritating the inside of my cunt at all. The brunette closes her mouth and swallows and I know her mouth is dry--she is really being affected by watching me get fucked by this machine. And the thing is, being watched by her is turning me on. See, with so few guys to go around, most girls turn to same-sex relationships and under different circumstances, I would go for this brunette. She's cute but not elegant--the kind of girl I wouldn't feel intimidated by.
I keep my eyes on her, to let her know that we have a connection as the shaft slides in and out of me, getting me worked up. Her gaze shifts to my crotch and when it does, I open my thighs a little wider. She notices and looks back up into my eyes. She gives me a look that is almost pure lust, but is mixed with a little fear. She reaches out and lays a hand gently on my right shin and I nod that it's okay for her to touch me. A small smile flickers across her lips.
Her skin is soft and warm under my hand and the shaft working within her belly is moving her body with its rhythm. I know that she opened her thighs wider just for me--the lust I feel must be evident on my face.
And her face is betraying what she is feeling. She is panting in time to the shaft fucking her, and beads of sweat are forming on her upper lip. Her belly too is reacting--pushing up and out, then clenching tight as her sexual feelings grow. I squeeze her lower leg to let her know I am with her.
The feelings in my lower belly are coming on strong now. This shaft is unlike anything I've ever felt. The three guys who I managed to get to fuck me in my life all had strong hard cocks, but nothing this hard. And the movement is steady, and unchanging, and unrelenting. In and out, in and out--always in motion, never slowing. I want to keep eye contact with the brunette, but the sexual tension is really growing inside me and I can feel my core start to tighten. I close my eyes and lay my head back on the bench and let my thighs flop open.
"...Gunna cum..." I whimper, feeling breathless and like I'm losing control. And oh, how I love that feeling
I grunt hard as my body tightens and I squirm on the bench and my orgasm is cramping inside me. I feel my thighs squeeze together and my toes point inward like they always do when I cum and my tummy plumps and tightens, plumps and tightens, in that crazy rhythm it has during my orgasms.
And this thing fucking me feels so good and it doesn't slow down at all. I can feel the brunette still squeezing my lower leg as I orgasm, keeping our connection.
"Oh f-f-fuck!" I let rip as I peak and my body shudders down the other side of my orgasm. I feel weak and shaky, like I might pass out. The brunette is stroking my shin now and it is a comfort. I open my thighs again.
And the machine keeps fucking me.
I remember reading the ticket I bought from Johannes. "The Penetration Station," it said, and it stated the time and place, and under that it said, "No limits--Not for the Weak of Heart," and under that, "Stage show starring Tracylynne in her FINAL performance," and under that, "Be Prepared--Anything can Happen." And it is happening, right beside me.
Beside me a girl wearing a skirt like my own but shorter and blue is kneeling, sitting on her feet which are tucked under her bottom. She is bracing her hands against her thighs, holding herself upright with her head hanging down and is breathing hard. Behind her sits an older distinguished man whose right hand is under her skirt. She is grinding herself against him, and it is obvious that his fingers are at work inside her body. I can smell the strong scent of her sex and the musky sweat from her hair, she is that close to me. And I can also smell an earthier scent, then I realize he is fingering her rectum.
Before me, Trace's face is sweaty and flushed. She is still getting used to being fucked by this machine of Johannes.
The machine is thrusting into me non-stop and I can feel a second orgasm building. I turn my face to Johannes. "...How... long...?" I manage to gasp as I pant in time with the thrusts.
"The audience is happy, so you have time. Does it feel good?"
"Ready for more?"
"...Uh-huh..." I murmur and close my eyes.
"Give me a second," Johannes says, and he plays with the controls. As he does, I lift my head and look down the girl in front of me. She is still stroking my lower leg and watching my face. She smiles when our eyes meet--but it is a sad smile; one of suffering sisterhood. She looks at the girl beside her and I see that girl is being played with by a guy sitting behind her who is old enough to be her father. The girl is shuddering and I'm pretty sure she's cumming.
The shaft inside me slows and withdraws until it is barely inside me. I swallow and take a deep breath--I know something big is coming and when it hits me I realize I'm not wrong.
"...Hngh!..." I grunt as the shaft thrusts up into me, deeper this time, pressing hard against my cervix and pushing me up, my back sliding on the bench. Then it slowly withdraws, and I slide down with it and I realize my back is slick with sweat now.
I'm not prepared for the next thrust and it fills me fast and deep and vibrates for a few seconds as it presses deep. Then it slides out, leaving me feeling hollow. I anticipate the next thrust but it doesn't come when I expect it. Johannes is operating it manually.
Hard deep thrust--then it slides out. Faster thrust--halfway, pausing before suddenly driving all the way in, pushing deep inside me and holding for longer before it slides out of me. Then thrust, withdraw, thrust, withdraw, thrust, press and vibrate.
"...Oh god..." I cry out as Johannes fucks me with his machine, churning my insides, pressing and holding deep and vibrating for long and short periods. The thrusts are erratic and varying in depth, speed, and duration. It doesn't take long...
I feel my belly start working as my orgasm begins--it pushes out and tightens flat over and over as I squirm and quiver on the bench. My left foot slips off the pedal and my leg spasms straight out and kicks and I feel the brunette squeezing the calf of my right leg. And, in the middle of my orgasm, Johannes thrusts the machine deep inside me, pressing harder against my cervix and making the shaft chatter like a jackhammer.
It feels like the end, the way Johannes described the end would be, the shaft pushing deep into my body, chattering hard as it impales me and eventually kills me. He said it would feel like the ultimate penetration--one you never come back from--and that's what this feels like.
I'm lost in my orgasm and the underlying fear that I am about to die... yet at the same time it feels like it is never going to end.
Johannes is working Trace hard with the machine and she screams and twists on the bench. Her body is shiny and wet with sweat and at her peak she makes a horrible inhuman sound and falls limp. At first I think she has died, but I see her chest quivering as she draws ragged breath. She has passed out.
Johannes slows the machine down and slides it back to a reasonable penetration rhythm and allows her body to calm. Some in the room applaud.
I let go of her leg and grab my purse and crawl to her side between her and Johannes, kneeling and stroking the hair off her hot flushed face. She moans and opens her mouth. I reach down into my purse and find the bottle of water I brought and twist the cap off it.
"Trace?" I say as I lift her head, cradling it in my hand.
"...Wha...?" She is disoriented, slowly regaining consciousness. Then she tries to swallow and moves her tongue. I can hear that her mouth is dry and pasty. I lift the bottle to her lips.
"Take a little drink of water, Trace," I say and tip the bottle slightly so a trickle runs into her mouth. She savours it and her eyes flutter open. I tilt the bottle again and she drinks.
Then she rolls her head to face me, her eyes dull but coming back into focus.
"Rafaela," I say. "My name."
"...Rafaela..." Her voice is weak, breathy.
"...Thank you... Rafaela..."
The machine starts to move stronger inside her again and she closes her eyes and moans. The thrusting is slow and even and soon she is breathing in time with it.
I turn and look at Johannes. He smiles at me and glances down at my purse, then back at me. I look at my purse and see that it is open and the device he sold me is in plain sight. When I look back at his face he smiles again and winks.
I turn my attention back to Trace and watch her. After a moment, I lean forward and take her left nipple in my mouth and suckle it.
Fucking me, fucking me, fucking me. I feel feverish and sick with sexual arousal. Rafaela is sucking my nipples, first one, then the other. Her left hand is stroking my throat and neck and her right is massaging my sweaty belly as Johannes' iron shaft slides in and out of me. It's never going to stop.
Cumming again... my belly so tight around Johannes' rigid iron cock, my nipples tingling, my cunt throbbing and swollen inside me.
Fucking me, fucking me, fucking me.
Oh! Cumming again...
Trace is in complete bliss now. Almost an hour has passed since she first started on this machine. I cannot count how many orgasms she has had. The best seemed to be ones when I laid the flat of my hand on her lower belly and pressed down, putting pressure on her g-spot as the shaft slid in and out of her. When I did that I could feel the shaft moving inside her and that built my own excitement. I am craving what she is feeling.
So many times Johannes' device has called to me, but each time I remind myself of how final it would be. My arousal is growing so strong that I believe if I used it in this moment that I will activate the button and let it take me. Yet despite my fear, I crave it, I want to feel that hard artificial cock inside me knowing the danger that lies within it. I reach under my skirt and feel my underpants. The crotch is wet and slippery, my mucus flowing now leaking through the fabric, my sex lubricating... wanting... desiring.
I am trembling now myself. My sexual tension is growing very strong. I see and feel what Trace is experiencing and I want it too. I want it so much. It is overwhelming me now as I see her in sexual bliss knowing how this will end and--madre de dios--I want to join her.
I know what is happening to me... what is happening inside me: I am over-stimulated sexually and my body is producing endorphins at a dangerous rate. Endorphins are the body's natural heroin and I know I'm in danger of overdosing on it. And even knowing these things, and knowing the danger I face, I don't care.
I am lost. So lost. My orgasm is constant now and rolls on and on inside me as Johannes' iron shaft plunges in and out of my belly. My body is soaked in sweat as I squirm and writhe on the bench. I try to remind myself that I am doing this for my sister and earlier I worried that Johannes was lying to me--that he was not going to take her to Canada--that he was going to make her a star in her own show in this cellar. But I no longer care. Nothing matters anymore, nothing but this iron shaft moving inside me--in and out, in and out. And clever Johannes; he has been creeping it deeper over time and now the pressure of its pointed tip is centered on my cervix and I can feel it opening me there. I never thought that would be possible, but there it is--my cervix is opening and loosening and the shaft has one goal in mind--to penetrate me where nothing is supposed to penetrate and my uterus is hungry for it.
"Time to get ready." I hear Johannes' voice close to me, but his words make little sense. I flutter my eyes open and look up into his face as he leans over me. The machine is on automatic and is thrusting steady and deep, moving me on the bench. My back and bum are sliding in my sweat as the shaft works at my cervix, opening it by degrees. And oh, how I want to be opened--to feel those final penetrations; penetrating my uterus, my abdominal cavity, my stomach... my throat.
"Ankle cuffs or pelvic strap?" he asks, and his words confuse me. I whimper and squirm [what the fuck is he asking me?].
"...Strap..." I gasp, just repeating his last word--it's all good--it doesn't matter, whatever it takes to get this shaft deeper into my body will do. And as he reaches over me and loops the strap across my lower belly, I look around me.
I am surrounded by the people in the room. Some kneel beside me and some stand over me. They are watching me, their eyes filled with lust and wonder. One woman has her skirt hitched up and is masturbating shamelessly as she stands hunched over, watching my body react to the shaft. Her bare legs are right at my eye level and I can see her inner thighs are wet and I can smell her sex and hear the squishing of her fingers inside her.
I turn my head and see that Rafaela is pulling a large dildo from her purse. It is shaped like a huge cock, covered in ribbed veins--it is thicker than my forearm. The tip has a round hole in it and something silver glints inside. Her hand is shaking as she pushes it under her skirt then closes her eyes as she positions it and lets her weight bear down.
Johannes cinches the strap tight across my lower belly, pinning my hips to the bench. "That should start feeling good," he says and he's right--it does feel good. Not as good as when Rafaela pressed down there, but good enough that I feel my orgasm rumble through me a little stronger.
I watch Rafaela's face, her mouth open, her face grimacing, then a small smile flickering. I see her relax as her body slides down--she's taken the dildo inside herself. She opens her eyes and meets my gaze as she begins to hump the dildo.
"Together," she gasps, and I'm not sure what she means, but she is riding her dildo now, rocking back and forth as it works its magic inside her. Her belly tightens and I think she's cumming.
"Time to hit the button, Trace," Johannes says as he steps back so his customers have a clear view.
Rafaela leans close to me, our noses almost touching. I close my eyes and feel her lips press against mine, our mouths melding into one, our tongues intertwining. She breaks off and frantically kisses my nose, my chin, my cheeks. It is as though she wants to devour me. Then I remember Johannes' button. I reach down and find her trembling hand and guide it to the hidden button.
"Please?” I gasp breathlessly--the thought of her doing this to me is exciting. I lift my knees high and open my thighs, my sneakers feeling heavy on my dangling feet.
"Yes," she whispers hoarsely. "Together." Then her mouth is on mine again, and her tongue exploring my mouth--tasting me as I am tasting her. I feel her face and body clenching again and this time I know for sure she's cumming.
"Mmmph!" she moans into my mouth. Her brows furrow and her body jerks and quivers.
Two beautiful orgasms within seconds. But it is time. As Trace and I kiss wantonly, I reach under my skirt between my thighs and feel that the mucus oozing from me has made the length of Johannes' device slippery. But it is rigid, so it stays put with my weight bearing down on it, trapping it to the floor. I can feel the sopping wet crotch of my underpants chafing the crease of my inner thigh where I pulled them aside to impale myself on Johannes' beautiful device. I find the button on the base of it and take a deep breath through my nose, my lips locked tight to Trace's.
I push Trace's button and my own at the same time. I feel Trace's body jerk as the machine changes its behaviour and I can feel the buzzing of the clockwork of the device inside me. Trace moans into my mouth and I bring both my hands to her body and stroke her skin and nipples.
I hear the click of the button and immediately feel the iron shaft thrust hard inside me. Now it chatters and that vibration is growing stronger... and I feel the pressure up against my cervix increasing. The leather strap is tight on my lower belly and getting tighter as the shaft is pushing up inside me.
"...Uunghhh...” I grunt hard and break our kiss.
I look at Rafaela's face and as I do she smiles then suddenly I hear a muffled “thunk” and her eyes widen and her mouth opens in shock, a gasp catches in her throat, and her mouth works silently.
I feel and hear the thin sharp-tipped shaft drive hard up into my abdomen from inside Johannes' device. It is a shock to my belly, driving so deep so fast. The device and the lethal spike are rigid inside me now.
So this is it. This is how I end. I can feel my belly quivering and my stomach filling with blood and it makes me feel sick. I gag, trying not to let it come up.
Rafaela grimaces in pain and lowers her head. I can see that her belly is pushing outward against the waist of her skirt and her mouth is open and her throat working like she may throw up. She is struggling, but with what I don't know. I wonder what was inside that dildo but the iron shaft is vibrating harder now and though I want to be with Rafaela...
"...I can't... I just can't..." I cry out--I'm losing it, confusing my thoughts and words. But I can't pay any more attention to her, much as I want to.
The iron shaft jackhammers inside me now and is pushing up harder. I cry out as I feel my cervix opening under the onslaught of the vibrating shaft and it is working its way up into my uterus. I squirm as I feel it moving deeper--filling my uterus, stretching it. My hands are now claws, scratching at my thighs and hips, as I cry out and pant, my body jerking and shaking badly.
Trace's lower belly is swollen and undulating as the iron cock begins its final assault on her body. She turns away from me and I feel the small pain of abandonment, but quickly I understand that we both most face these last moments on our own.
I let myself slip backward and slide my legs out from under me to sit flat on the floor and as I do my full weight comes down on Johannes' spike and dildo. I didn't think that through and I moan as I feel it press up deeper inside me. I lean back and rest my back against the legs of someone. I look up and see that it is Johannes himself.
"...Gracias..." I gasp, then the feelings within me become very strong. The spike has penetrated my stomach and the tip is now up in my gullet and I gag, my stomach quivering inside me, trying to heave up the blood that is filling it. "...Madre de dios..." I whimper and hear the gurgling in my throat.
Back arching... head thrown back as the iron shaft hammers wildly inside me... my uterus bursts as the tip of the shaft breaks through into my gut... feet drop flat on the floor on either side of the bench and I push my belly upward... outward... it is jiggling from the mad vibrations inside me...
I taste blood in my throat... oh my...
Writhing... crying out like an animal... it's deeper... impossibly deeper... I feel the tip in the pit of my stomach... gagging... heaving... I burp wetly and explosively...
I lose my fight and lower my head. Vomito... a liquid rush filling my open mouth to gurgle past my lips, over my chin, and down over my white top and white skirt.
I wear a red bib now.
...Impaled by shuddering iron... my body convulsing... so much sweet violence in my core...
So dizzy... so weak... the room tilts and I feel myself sliding to the side, Johannes' device shifting inside me...
...This will never end... never... never... nev...
...My face comes to rest hard on someone's shoe...
I watch Trace convulse one last time then flop limply on the bench, her legs flop open, her arms limp, her fingertips curled and resting on the floor. Her face is so beautiful, her mouth open, her eyes closed. She looks content...