She sits in my desk chair in my home office, the door to my suicide room behind her. Her well-used backpack squats crumpled on the floor beside the chair. She is studying me as I sit across from her, sizing me up I suppose.
Her emails had been terse, with no details on how she wanted to die. Hell, I didn't even know her name - her email address gave nothing away - some old hotmail addy. She only asked that I be patient awaiting her arrival - she had no money and had to hitchhike a long way to get here and couldn't be sure of the date. It took her four days.
I'd tried to get her to open up about what she wanted by telling her how some of the other girls chose to go, what sort of prep they wanted, how they wanted to be sexually aroused, that sort of thing. And she just sat there listening in silence, studying me.
"Can't we just do it?" she asks in a calm, matter-of-fact voice, finally breaking her silence.
"Yes. We can." I say softly, "But how? What method?"
She shrugs, then; "Knife?"
I reach over to a side table and open a drawer, taking out a stiletto.
"Like this?" I ask, turning it so she can see the width and length of the blade.
"Sure." she says in a monotone and takes hold of her t-shirt and peels it up over her head, dropping it on the floor, settling herself back in the armchair, still dressed in her sweatpants, bra, and hiking boots. She lays her hands on the armrests of the chair and waits for me to help her die. She's only been here for 15 minutes.
I slide off my chair and kneel in front of her, holding the knife where she can see it.
"Where do we start? How do you want it done?" I ask softly.
She shrugs again, "I don't care. I just want to feel it. I want to know I'm dying."
"You will." I answer.
She slides her bum forward so she's sort of slumped in the chair and I lean in and push her knees apart so I can be close. I can smell her body odour - no doubt she didn't bathe in the four days it took her to get here. I can smell stale sweat and the lingering musk of girl cum and wonder if - like so many girls on the road - she bartered sex for mileage.
I slowly bring the knife to her lower belly and place the tip halfway between her belly button and her mound hidden under the loose fleece of her sweats. Her eyes follow the tip of the knife.
"Here first?" I ask, watching her expressionless face. She nods.
I press in with the knife and I feel her body tighten up. As I press harder, her belly fat dimples deep, but she's a cool one; her breathing is slow and regular, her eyes on the blade. I press just a bit harder and I feel the skin pop and the tip slides through the thin layer of belly fat and penetrates the band of muscles that cross her belly. I decide to keep going, not slowing at all so she can feel the unrelenting path of the blade. Her brow furrows as she watches all six inches of the stiletto slide hilt-deep into her abdomen.
Her only reaction is to pucker her lips and blow out a slow breath. I let the knife rest there for a moment, watching her face
"Okay?"
She nods.
I pull the knife straight out and move the tip to the soft spot just under her rib cage on her left side. I angle the knife inward, so it will penetrate into her abdomen and miss her left lung and stomach. I press firmly, the blade popping through skin and thin layer of fat and penetrating muscle as it slides deep into her once again. This time her eyes close and she moves slightly in the chair, holding her breath as the blade transits inside her.
I let her sit for a moment with this second penetration before I again slide the blade out of her and position it on the other side. Yeah - I like symmetry. And I push the blade into her again, and this time her mouth opens slightly and she gasps - I must have hit something sensitive in her belly. I slip the knife out of her and pause, letting her rest for a moment before I place the tip in her belly button, then drag it lightly up her belly to the soft spot below her sternum. I adjust the angle so this one will penetrate straight in - I predict silently that this will get a reaction, and one I particularly enjoy seeing.
I press inward and her belly dimples deep before her skin and muscle succumb to the sharp tip and the blade slides inward. I know the instant the tip contacts her stomach because her eyes and mouth open wide and her upper body curls forward. This is always the money shot - penetrating the stomach produces intense sensations, not only of pain but also heaving in reaction to the invasive steel.
As I press deep, impaling her stomach and holding it there, she stares at nothing as her shoulders pull inward and her upper body curls forward tighter. I can see her gullet working and hear the wet gagging sounds but she isn't vomiting - I suspect she hasn't eaten for awhile.
Her gagging becomes rhythmic and the knife moves in time as her stomach convulses and churns and tears collect in her eyes and drool in her mouth. When her eyes suddenly squeeze closed and her gullet locks tight in an intense heave, I pull the knife out of her in one smooth rapid motion.
"... uh ..." she grunts as she flops back and her shoulders relax. She lays slumped in the chair for a few moments, swallowing and gasping for air. At last her eyes open and she meets my gaze.
".... fuck ..." she whispers, ignoring the tears that have run down her cheeks.
"More?" I ask.
She nods.
I reach up with my free hand and slide my fingers under the waistband of her sweats and underpants, pulling the front down until her mound is exposed. Her light coloured pubic hair is matted to her skin and a little sticky to the touch. But it isn't sex I want, it is access to her sex organs.
I position the tip of the stiletto on the firm part of her mound, knowing that it will scrape the top side of her pubic bone on its way through the meat of her sex. I lift myself up so I can apply a firm steady pressure and press down, using my weight to control the penetration. I can only imagine how this feels - the immense growing pressure right on an area that is thick with nerve endings. I lean into it.
"... nnghhhh ..." she grimaces and squirms in the chair, groaning long and low as I push the knife into her mound, feeling the tip grinding across her pelvic bone before it penetrates her internal sex organs. Her thighs try to close and they squeeze my ribs tight and I marvel at the strength in her legs. But I am unrelenting - I press down on the knife until it is buried to the hilt in her pelvic cradle, impaling her bladder, cunt, and rectum. The crotch of her sweats darken as she pisses herself and I can feel her cunt and anus contracting rhythmically as I twist the blade slightly inside her.
"AH!" she cries out and squirms in the chair, pressing her fists against the armrests, trying to push herself away from the blade. But it's buried deep in her and held tight.
At last I've gotten a strong reaction from her.
I let the blade lay still inside her and wait until she has come to grips with the feelings. Soon she calms, but is now trembling - her breathing faster now and a little ragged.
"How does it feel?" I ask.
She opens her eyes and looks down at me, her expression one of sadness, "Like I'm dying." she says softly.
"Almost." I say as I pull the knife up and out and move the bloody tip to her belly button and press in without warning. Despite not being prepared, she presses her abdomen outward, giving herself a little pot belly and she swallows the blade well. I want to take her in my arms and kiss her as she does this - I have a soft spot for girls who press their belly outward to accept the blade.
Once I have pressed it hilt deep, I sweep the blade from side to side, feeling it hang up and slice through internal structures. She tenses and gasps, then relaxes.
"Now you're dying." I say. She gazes at nothing as she lets the sensations come to her.
"I feel ... fluttering inside me." she whispers.
"Yeah - I cut through your abdominal aorta." I explain as I slide the knife out of her, and cover the wound with the pad of my thumb to stop blood from pulsing out, "You should feel your belly swelling in a few seconds. Then you'll bleed out."
She takes the news well, relaxing her body and laying her head to one side, staring out my sliding glass door at the lake.
Soon her breathing becomes laboured and shallow and she gasps out each breath. Her face is paling alarmingly and her lips are turning a pale blue. Under my hand I feel her belly swelling as it fills with blood.
"Want me to do anything before you go?" I ask.
She moves her head gently side-to-side indicating "no". Then swallows with difficulty, her mouth no doubt very dry now. She tries to lift her left hand, but she's too weak and lets it drop to the armrest.
"... it's ... not ... so bad ..." she whispers, then closes her eyes.
I watch her chest rise and fall, each breath growing weaker than the last. For a time she pauses between each weak gasp, sometimes for 30 or 40 seconds. At one point I think she has gone, but her eyes flutter open and she sucks in a long ragged breath, and for a brief second I see fear in her expression. Regret, I suppose. But her face goes slack after a few seconds and she calms once more. She whimpers softly as she lets out her final breath and her chest rises no more. Her half-lidded eyes stare at the lake, no longer seeing it.
Shit - I never asked for her name.