Katie McIntosh died this morning. More specifically, she killed herself. Hanged by the neck in the bathroom, the cord from her hairdryer hooked around the doorknob.
She hadn’t meant to kill herself. She was choking herself and masturbating. She was only sixteen, and she didn’t know there was an actual term for it. And she didn’t know that people often killed themselves while performing autoerotic asphyxiation. Maybe if society was more open about sexuality and eroticism, she would have known.
At first Katie hadn’t understood what happened. Death, as it turned out, was complicated for her. A few moments after she died at 10:15 AM on 1/9/2018, she woke up in her bed. It was 1/9/2018. 9:45 AM.
She had done this before she was certain of it. She sat up in bed. Confused by what she told herself was just an intense sex dream, she shoved her fingers into her panties. She was getting wet quickly. She felt a strong sense of déjà vu. But she was quickly preoccupied with rubbing her throbbing clit with her wet fingers.
She stuffed her face into her pillow and moaned as she shoved two fingers into her pussy. Her loins were begging for more. She knew her fingers weren’t going to get her to come. She had tried before. Her body needed something more intense.
She got out of bed and opened the door to her bedroom. The house was quiet. Her parents should both be at work. Her brother had spent the night at a friends house. He probably wouldn’t be back until dinner time. She confirmed she was by herself and went into the bathroom.
She pulled out the green handtowel and her hairdryer. She pulled off her panties and kneeled on the floor next to the door. She looped the cable of the hairdryer and secured it on the door handle. She put the looped cable over her head and pulled it up under she jawline.
Gently, she let her weight fall against the cable. It tightened just enough to cut off a bit of her airflow. She felt the familiar rush of endorphins and the twinge of fear in the pit of her stomach. Her pussy was practically dripping wet now. She rammed her fingers in hard. She was so near climax. The cable was digging into her neck. She was trying so hard to come. She just needed it a little tighter. A little less air. A little less oxygen getting to her brain. Her face felt hot. Her tongue was swelling. She was riding the wave of pleasure right up to the peak.
She came. It was glorious. She felt herself squirting all over her hand.
She tried to get her knees back under her, but they slipped on the tile. Her full weight cinched the cable tighter into her swift neck. She grabbed at it with her hands but she couldn’t get her fingers under it. Her legs kicked at the slick tile. What she had been imagining a moment ago suddenly became all too real. She knew what was happening. She knew she was dying. She knew it had happened before. This exact same thing. She fought to remember.
She woke up in bed. 9:45 AM.
She remembered it clearly—too clearly to have been a dream.
Her pussy was begging to be filled. She ignored it, climbed out of bed and walked to the bathroom. It was just the was she had remembered it. She ran her hand absently over her neck. She remembered the sensation of dying. She was sure.
The more she thought about it the more she got wet.
But she realized it wasn’t just about the strangulation. Her heart was racing and her hands were shaking. She was thinking of doing something. It was something crazy.
What if she was just imagining dying? She asked herself. What if it was just a vivid sex dream of a disturbed mind?
But she knew it wasn’t. She knew it was her memories.
Her dad’s gun was in his nightstand. It was a handgun that he had shown her how to use. He stated multiple times that it wasn’t a toy.
If this didn’t go the was she was hoping, he would be super disappointed in her.
She pulled it out, cocked it, and opened her mouth. She rhythmically shoved it to the back of her throat as she pleasured herself with her hand between her legs.
9:45 AM. Bed.
It came rushing back to her quickly this time. She remembered things more clearly. The taste of metal and oil. Her pulsating pussy. The light the noise and the split second splitting headache.
She still wanted to come. Every time she woke up in her bed she was back to where she began. The desire was still there. She tried it again. This time, she told herself she wouldn’t pull the trigger after the came, she tried as hard as she could, but knowing that death wasn’t a moment away, she couldn’t climax. She put the gun away. She went back to the bathroom and hung herself, but she didn’t reach climax this time.
It was 9:45 AM and her need for satisfaction was more intense than it had ever been before. She grabbed her phone. She pulled up her Messenger app.
She scrolled through, looking for who was online.
Boys. Being a freshman in high school meant she only really knew boys. She gave up on that idea. Instead she got dressed. She put on a pair of Soffe shorts and a tank top that showed her bra a little. She had tried to leave the house like this last week and her dad had been livid. “What do you think will happen if you go out dressed like that?” He had yelled.
She was about to find out.
Her house was situated near downtown so she headed that way. As she walked she racked her brain back to news articles she had read or reports she had watched on TV about girls her age being murdered. She realized they usually were vague never gave too many specifics on how exactly they got themselves killed.
She took a side street. She knew it was a rough part of town. And she knew she looked vulnerable in her too tight tank top. Cheap flip flops, and shorts that showed the bottom curves of her asscheeks.
Would anyone take the bait?
She meandered for a while. She got some attention, but no one had made a move.
Finally, she passed by an alleyway and heard voices. She walked that way.
The walls were graffitied. The air stunk. Back in the corner of a recess in the building were two men. One guy, black and about six feet tall and muscular was talking to a white guy who looked greasy and gaunt. They fell silent when they saw her.
“Y’lost cupcake?” Asked the black guy.
“Um, I might be.” She replied. Trying to seem unsure of where she was going.
“Cupcake. That’s a good one. Cause she looks tasty.” The other guy laughed a little nervously.
“Shut it, Davis.” The first guy snapped. “Can I help you?”
“Maybe you can.” She gave spin as she looked around. Giving the guys a complete view of her body.
Davis actually licked his lips. She caught this out of the corner of her eye. She put herself within a foot of him. “Do you think you could help me?” She asked him
“Ya. I ain’t think you should be hanging out round here kid.” The black guy shifted uncomfortably.
“I think she’s fine right where she is.” Davis said.
“Davis. Leave it alone man.”
She ran her hand through her hair, poking out her chest. She could see the desire in Davis’s grey eyes.
“Listen, girl. You should get out of here.”
“You get outa here, man.” Davis snapped back. “Cupcake and I got some business.”
She placed her hand on Davis’s arm. The black guy glanced around nervously.
“Are you gonna interfere, Mack? You know when happens when you interfere wit my business right?” Davis said suddenly much more threatening.
“Man, you gotta be fuckin wit me.”
“You can either stay and enjoy or get the hell outa here.”
“I don’t fuck wit dis shit man.” Mack said and left. He glanced back before he rounded the corner.
She was left alone with Davis. He had a grip on her arm now. “Let’s go.”
He led her to a little beat up car parked further back in the alley next to an overflowing dumpster.
“Get in.” He pulled open the back door. The seat was covered in old magazines and empty chip bags. She sat down on the seat and scooted back into the car. He climbed in after her. He pulled off her shorts and panties and pushed her knees apart. She grabbed his pants and pulled out his dick. He pushed her hand back and pinned her down. He was so close to her. She could feel his dick touching her crotch.
“Ya got rates?” He asked her.
“Um.” She wasn’t thinking clearly. All she could think about was how bad she wanted to be fucked.
“Fuck it, it don’t matter.” He laughed in the same manic way as before. “Ya wanna know why?”
His body was tense now. She could feel just how strong he was. She tried to push back but he had her immobilized. “Mmm.”
“Get the idea? You ain’t gonna be collectin’ nothin’ no more.”
Her adrenaline was kicking in. The rush of fear and uncertainty. This was going better than she could have imagined. Her fight or flight kicked in. He pressed his dick against her and she opened her mouth in a gasp. In a surprisingly fast move he stuffed her panties into her mouth. Stifling any noise she might have made. He kept her arms pinned over her head with one hand and guided his dick into her wet pussy with the other.
“Heh. Your body wants me, bitch.” He laughed.
Her mind went wild. The pleasure of the man’s dick contrasted sharply with the pain of his rough handling. He squeezed her little tits hard. When she began mowing involuntarily he smacked her across the face and pushed her panties deeper down her throat. She gagged and coughed on them. They were drenched with saliva and they made each breath difficult. Her head was knocking against the inside of the door again and again, but she could feel herself nearing climax. The more she struggled the rougher he got. So she fought. She fought with all her waning strength. She needed him to end her.
She arched her back and kicked her feet. Finally, one wrist slipped from his grip and she hit him across the face. This did it. He grabbed her head in both his hands and bashed it against a hard edge on the door. With each smash he forced himself deeper inside her. Everything was going fuzzy. She heard a cracking. She felt herself coming harder then she ever had before. He was coming to. There was blood spatter on the window and the seat. There was red. Then there was black.
9:45 AM. Bed.
Her pussy was wet again.
Have any other ideas for how she should get herself murdered? Let me know.
God damn that was good, although I wish you hadn't made the good parts so brief.
If you want to write more what about drowning, getting squashed, beheading, choking on dick or bleeding out?
Jumps off the roof pussy-first onto a conveniently nearby flagpole and spits herself.
Slices herself open and uses the intestines as a toy.
Calls up a friend, drags her friend into the whole thing, and has her assist with a little knife-play.
electrocution, in several different variations with different household objects
slowly mutilating herself until she finally bleeds out
googling the fastest-acting poison of household stuff (good thing time gets reset and nobody will ever see this on her google search history)
Beheaded by a train
Car crash. Sword swallowing (either lip). Bleach with ammonia. Swatting. Self dissection. Bear fight. Swim with the fish in the ocean, literally. Jump from a building. Alcohol. Chainsaw.
Wonder how genitals work. Or taste. Cook it? Why not the whole body, then? Wonder how it feels to be eaten. Pay a visit to the zoo?
i'd like to see her take a drill to her skull then finger fuck her own brain,
or maybe has a friend skull fuck her with a strap on.
drawn and quratered by trucks/motorcycles sounds fun
or maybe a bagging race with a girlfriend.
if someone dies before her do they also get brought back when she wakes up?
how about bicycle pump inflation bursting
The idea of her and a girlfriend both with a bag over their heads to see who cums and goes first sounds hot.
Are we allowed to suggest suicides too?
I want there to be one where, after she gets addicted death, she feels like being deprived of that is now her greatest fear. But she's curious about it. Like, what's the opposite of a morbid curiosity? She can't stop thinking about it.
She gets ready to immobilize herself, somewhere where nobody will find her. She hesitates for a long while before closing the last lock. But, whatever the opposite of curiosity killing the cat. She locks it, and now she can't move. She can't kill herself.
She can't masturbate either. Living isn't too bad, but her lust is unbearable. It'll take days before she dies of thirst. She can't take it. This was a bad move. Why did she do this? She's going crazy. She starts struggling, even though she'll never break free.
Then her wrists start bleeding. An early way out. The more she can hurt herself, the closer she is to that comfy bed where she can masturbate her brains out.
And then yeah, whatever happens. She comes to associate pain with pleasure or something. Sorry for the long suggestion.
I love the concept you've got going here, and second bringing in a friend to kill her with sexual knifing.
This gave me an idea of attaching herself to the train by the legs and then being dragged and bumped on the rails until she dies.