The day she was cut in half
The warehouse was pretty dark. None of the lights were on, only the dusty, cobwebbed skylights let in the reflected shine of the city, from low hanging, looming clouds. Like a dirty yellow blanket.
It was enough light for a young woman to tiptoe her way through the aisles, between racks and stacks of palettes, almost up to the ceiling.
She was alone. There would have been no need to tiptoe, but any sound echoed eerily in the large building and the reason she was here in the first place, at night and without light, brought with it a certain amount of healthy paranoia.
The warehouse was used as a drop-off point for various smuggled goods. And if the police were to catch her with the stash she was about to retrieve, she'd face a very unpleasant interrogation, while corrupt officers were trying shady methods to find out who had sent her, who she'd bring it to, and other questions that, if she answered truthfully would shorten her life considerably. If she didn't she'd rot in jail.
None of that would matter on this fateful day. There were no police, and she would in fact never have to worry about hitmen nor jail, but she didn't know that yet. She counted the aisles, then went down one of them counting racks.
She stopped in front of a large stack of rusty metal cages, each of which held plastic barrels with symbols and letters on them. It was not the stack in front of which she should have stopped. The goods she had come for waited savely on a shelf, one aisle further down. But that, too she didn't know.
The cages were mostly open. They were stackable, if you had a forklift, and seemingly gave enough room for footrest to climb on them. She started climbing.
She was three cages up, when the stack of cages when fate tried one final time to warn her. A shrieking metal creak sounded from below, as the imbalanced and overloaded metal protested, weakened already by age and rust.
She stopped, panting. Her legs felt a bit wobbly, and she felt her breasts brush against her shirt with every labored breath. Her fingers tingled, cramped to give her hold on the rusty metal. And for some reason she felt horny. Her pussy had been urging for a while. Her labia were slightly swollen and pressed into her panties, already soaked. The thrill of the illegal often made her a little bit aroused, but climbing this stack pulled her jeans tight against her nethers with every step and added the physical stimulation needed to be quite worked up.
She considered to take care of her little urge later, once she had what she had come for. A bit of quality time with her favorite vibrator, once she was safely back home. She'd close her eyes and dream about things that drove her wild, even though they would drive most people away, while she'd stimulate herself to sweet sweet release...
But that was not what fate had decided for her that night. Ironically, her fate would be almost exactly what she so often had dreamed about, as a fantasy, even if the circumstances were to be different - and rather unexpected.
She had claimed one more cage. High above the ground, only two more to go, when she felt herself moving backwards.
Instinctively she let go and tried to move back down. She assumed that only the footrest she had stepped on was unstable. But the problem was far below. With painful creaking noise, the metal protested and then gave way with a loud *pang*, as a weld gave way, and the entire stack of heavy, barrel laden cages tipped.
She tried to hold on to something, but everything was suddenly in motion, tilting, accelerating backwards. Her feet lost footing, and then the cage she was on suddenly jerked and shook her off. She was in freefall!
Her sudden scream was followed by immediate and loudly echoing pandemonium. The stack of cages crashed into the shelf on the opposing side of the aisle, then came tumbling down.
The young woman hit the hard concrete floor. She had no way to brace herself, and fell backwards, her head hit hard against something metal and sent her senses spinning in confusion, while around her all hell broke loose. Metal cages crashed down and shattered. Barrels hit the floor and burst. Liquids spilled, mixed and flushed each other down the aisle.
She did feel the impact on her belly. Like a punch into the stomach, only worse. It drove the wind out of her, and there was this stinging pain in her back, as if she had been thrown back first into a sharp corner. The wet cracking sound it made as she was crushed was inaudible in the cacophonie of destructive noises all around. And her scream never came, although her mouth was far open, only a suppressed gasp ever escaped it.
The falling crates could have hit her anywhere. They could have smashed her head to pulp, instantly ending her. They could have crushed her body like a bug. They could have missed her altogether, or trapped her legs. As it were, the cage that did hit her also shielded her from any that would come after it. It came down on an edge and remained, diagonally wedged into place, resting half on the floor that she had been falling on, and half on the shelf-rack behind and above her. Barrels and debris landed on it, but it did no longer budge. Only liquids flushed around her. Dark and invisible. Gooey, sticky, and burning.
The burning added to the agony of the blow to her guts and her cracked spine.
Again and again, she instinctively tried to scream. Her lungs heaved to press out the air, but she was unable to inhale. It was torture, and for nearly a minute, the only worry she had was that she couldn't even gasp for air. Pain clouded her mind, but fear grow inside her. Primal, immediate fear, that this was her end, that she would not regain her breath before blackness engulfed her.
Ironically it was when her strength left her, that her cramped guts relaxed enough to get a bit of air inside her burning lungs. Not enough. She urged for air like a drowning swimmer, gasping, mouth open. But every tiny breath she took was a bit bigger than the one before. Sweet sweet air.
She didn't care about the chemical stench, nor the smell of blood. She just needed to breathe.
By the time she didn't feel like she was suffocating anymore, the worst pain had subsided. She looked left and right, to see what had happened to her, as her mind tried to make sense of the situation.
She had fallen. That was clear. She was on her back, on the floor, hurting badly, and soaked into a mess of liquids that had been in those barrels.
She looked at the cage over her and saw it intersect the floor, roughly where her bellybutton was. Right where her guts were still hurting from being kicked with the force of a speeding bus. And where her spine still stung like a horde of wasps...
She couldn't feel her legs. She had not noticed it before, but she had no sensation beyond where that cage was having his weight on her. That meant her spine was broken, and she was trapped.
It dawned to her that the cage, in that orientation could actually have sliced right through her. That she was on this side of that cage. And then there was the cage. And on the other side there'd be the rest of her. Unfelt. Detached. Bisected.
That was an exciting and frightening thought at the same time. Frightening, because unlike a broken spine which would merely mean she'd spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair, being sliced in half meant, she'd die. Like... now.
But then again, this was her fantasy. Her secret, her kink, her fetish. The thing she imagined while rubbing her clit: How it would feel if it was gone. She'd be rubbing it, but not feeling it, because it was no longer part of her.
The excitement had one effect. She blushed, lightheaded, and her nipples were suddenly pointy.
There was only one way to find out. If she tried to pull herself out from under the cage, she'd know if she was merely crushed under it. Then she'd have to wait it out for someone to rescue her. Which probably meant being questioned why she was here in the first place. And then spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair. Probably in prison, too.
But she'd life.
Or, she'd find herself in half, in which case she likely had a few interesting minutes to try out as many of the exciting ideas, before she ran out of blood.
In fact, she had spent so long under the cage already, she was quite certain it was option one. Realistically, she wouldn't last all that long if her blood was basically pouring out of your aorta as quickly as your heart could pump it.
That also meant, maybe the cage was what was keeping her alive. Maybe, if she moved to find out, she'd open the floodgates and pour out like all those broken barrels had.
That was a frightening thought. Any other girl would probably have stayed where she was, just in case.
But she wanted to know. She had to know. So, as careful as she could she reached with her hands, towards where the cage met the floor and her belly ended.
To her surprise, her hand was stopped by a goopey, semi-solid mass. Some of the contents of a barrel that had leaked upon her from above had hardened like glue or rubber, poured all over her crushed midsection.
This was interesting.
More interesting was that the stuck didn't really stick to the floor, or the metal cage. A little pull, and it came off. A little bit of playing her fingers all around, and it came loose everywhere.
And then suddenly she was free. No longer glued to the floor, nor to the cage. And not trapped under it either. She never had been.
Arousal hit a peak, as she reached around, where her lower belly should have been but wasn't. Then up, to where she now ended. She expected blood, spilled entrails, gushing blood. Instead she felt the same gopey, rubbery sensation of rubber. Or glue.
She giggled. It was painful, but she couldn't contain laughter. What a twist of fate, that of all the substances that could have been in those barrels, the one that leaked on her waist was exactly the type of stuff that was needed to glue her ripped midsection shut and keep her from bleeding all over the warehouse floor. And... it happened to her, no less. Who had always fantasized about just this one unlikely, impossible chance.
The clouds had made room for the moon now, which shone through the skylights and made her see everything in silvery grey. Determined, she pulled herself out from under the cage. Like a swimmer doing backstrokes, she pulled herself out, grasping to what was left of the cage, and then some debris.
Panting, feeling lightheaded and aroused, she waited for a second. Absentmindedly she played with one of her nipples...
She just had to see. Pushing and pulling herself around, she moved far enough so she could see around the other side of the crate.
There were her legs.
She had lost a shoe, but her legs were otherwise unharmed. Like a sleeping girl laying on her back. Her jeans were still closed and made her hips look perfectly normal.
She moaned slightly as she stared at her lower belly beyond the hips. Naked of course. Her shirt did not reach this part. Her belly was sliced from side to side, and dark, probably red entrails were pouring out and then smeared against the floor. Smashed by the crate as it had come down.
She reached for her ankle. The closest part she could reach and pulled.
Her legs were completely limp. No twitch, no resistance. Surprisingly heavy, she hadn't thought that the legs themselves would have been so heavy. She pulled them towards her from under the crate.
Then she turned herself around, sideways. moving from her back on her belly. Herself being her upper torso, as her legs were obviously no longer part of her.
It was a weird feeling in her belly. As if everything tried to bulge out of her. But the glue held.
She undid her jeans.
It was weird to do that from between her legs. Her whole life, whenever she had taken her jeans off, it had always been from above, never from below. ANd she had never taken the pants of another girl before either. Not from that angle. She was surprising herself how clumsy it was.
Pulling the jeans off was even harder. She had to manouver them over her hips and thighs, but she ended up just pulling her entire lower half. She had to reach into the pants, right were her pussy was, to a familiar wet spot on her undies and hold on to her crotch for counterforce.
She moaned at the thought what this would had felt like before. It was the lack of any sensation that made this so weird. As if she was touching another girl in a naughty way.
She only pulled her jeans down to the knees, then tried to pull one of her legs out of the pants to free it.
They were so definitely her legs. She knew the touch, the scent, the sensation of touching them. She even knew how it felt to not feel her legs. Sometimes they fell asleep, if she had been sitting awkwardly. She'd touch her legs and not feel a thing, until the sensation came back like a thousand needles, torturing her.
Except this time there would be no needles. The sensation would never come back.
She brushed over her own skin, playing with her leg as if she was petting herself.
Ah yes the panties. They had to go, too. She peeled them of her hips, then repeated the same threading of getting her leg pulled out.
A few more guts spilled out of her belly with a wet sound. There was no glue on this side.
Now she had her own pussy in front of her, exposed, in the moon light. Not a hair on them, as she had waxed them just the previous day. And they were glistening moist. In arousal she could no longer feel.
Well, that wasn't exactly true. She still felt pretty aroused, she just couldn't feel the familiar pressure in her labia that came with it, nor the touch of her slightly enlarged clit, squeezing just barely past its hood, so the panties could rub against it.
She searched it with her finger. It was softer than it should have been at her current state of arousal. And it did not respond to her touch either. Normally she didn't have to rub it long to feel it twitch from inside and outside. Without blood pressure her bottom half was surprisingly frigid.
Except, she had been moist from before, and she still was.
She leaned closer and took a sniff. She knew her scent well. When she fingered, her fingers smelled the same. If she did it long enough the room was permeated with the smell of her arousal. But... what would it .... taste like? From the source?
She had fantasized often enough about giving herself cunnilingus after she was cut in half. She needed no hesitation, it was the very reason she had taken her pants off.
Her cunny was so soft under her tongue. Deformable, a bit rubbery. And the taste... In her mind she imagined now what it would feel like if someone did this to her if she wasn't in half. Or if her lower half had its own mind and could feel this, what would it feel? Unable to see anything, but very able to receive pleasure?
She stuck her tongue deeper into her and licked up every drop of liquid she could find, holding on to her hip with both hands. Moans escaped her, she moaned into her own pussy, feeling her nipples scrape both against the concrete floor and her own thighs.
She was still warm inside her pussy, she realized. If she left her lower half like this long enough, she'd cool down to ambient temperature, like a corpse. Her legs were already a bit chilly, but inside she was still hot.
A different thought came her. She slid a finger into her pussy. There was enough moisture and lubrication, although her spit had replaced most of the original fluid. She started fingering herself. Biting her lips, she started with one finger, then two. Then three.
She felt the tension against her fingers, and she remembered well how this had felt 'on the inside'. It was about as much as she could take, beyond that she got sore.
She always had wanted to put her whole hand inside herself, but it hadn't fit.
But now, she couldn't feel pain anymore. There was no harm in stretching her pussy a little bit. In a few hours it would start to rot anyway, she'd rather have as much fun as possible now.
Four fingers. Her pussy was so incredibly tight. But it could not complain anymore. No pain, no discomfort.
Something seemed to rip a bit, as she forced her hands in beyond her knuckles, all the way to the wrist. Past the tight entrance it was easy. She could feel her inside walls, warm and sticky and silken. Her pubic area bulged out a tiny bit, and the presence of her hand pushed more of what had once in her belly out of the end.
That gave her an idea. Something she hadn't done, even in her dreams.
She reached around with her other hand, right into the gory mess, Wet and slimy it was. In there probably were her bladder, and her womb. And lots of guts.
But beyond her womb she'd find her own hand now. Inside her vaginal channel.
It was surprisingly thin. Her inside skin, felt from both sides was just a thin membrane. She could feel her fingers against her fingers, and in between them was just this thin layer of her vaginal tunnel. She reached all around it, then let her hand glide higher, until her womb rested in her palm.
If she hadn't been cut in half, that was where possibly in some other reality she could have become pregnant, grew a baby inside herself. It was so small. She pulled a bit, felt the sensation in turn on her other hand, and she could see how her labia were pulled together and inwards.
If she was still whole, this would probably hurt like hell, she realized. But it was so hot. She could do anything to herself.
She opened her other hand. The one inside her vagina, then gently placed her womb inside her own palm. Through her vaginal skin, she could feel her fingers close against the slippery organ.
She removed her other hand and grasped her chest, moaning. She knew she was messing her shirt with blood and slime, but what matter did that make? She ripped open her shirt with one hand to free her breasts. The blood gave extra lubrication as she twisted her nipple, brought herself to a shivering whimper in the knowledge what she was about to do.
Then she clenched her fist around her womb, and pulled her hand out of her cunt without letting go.
It was still attached somewhere in there. Something had to rip, and she needed a surprising amount of force.
When it finally happened, she peed herself.
That was quite a surprise. She hadn't expected anything to be even still in her. But with her bladder squeezed and her womb torn from it, a squirt of unmistakable liquid came out of her.
And then her pussy turned inside out. Like a sock that you pull of your foot.
That moment, she came. She tensed, and started rocking herself, arching, shivering. Her hand clenched against her nipple, and ... having no hip ... she instinctively rubbed her lower most part that she still had against the floor. She felt the pushing and pulling sensation in her guts, as the rubberized substance that had poured over her was pushed against the concrete.
She moaned and screamed, and then felt a pulling sensation, as something came off.
With a wet sensation, her internal pressure pushed away the rubber, like a blockage in a sewage pipe.
She reached down between her breasts towards the odd sensation, and her hand touched hot, slimy guts and a torrent of blood that spilled out of her.
Her heart beat like crazy, still shivering from her orgasm, and with every heartbeat, she felt a gush of hot liquid pour out of her and spread all around her on the floor.
It dawned to her that in her orgasm, she might have overdone it a bit with the physical activity, but somehow that only prolonged her climax. She moaned with every breath and clenched her hand into her breasts as she felt herself gush her contents over the floor. Her other hand went deeper inside her living guts and clenched her entrails. Where she could feel them, where it still hurt, although her senses started going numb.
She still made humping motions, and the rubber went away completely now, spilling the remaining contents of her stomach cavity out of her. She could feel her insides swim in the gushing blood stream over her hand, between her fingers. Still connected to her. That thick thing was her liver, and the large one had to be her stomach. She could even feel the pressure of her fingers inside her.
Once again it got harder to breathe. With all the empty space in her belly, she couldn't draw air into her lungs, but it didn't matter anymore.
Every gush of blood became less than the one before, every heartbeat was weaker. She wasn't just going into shock, she was literally running dry. Leaking out,
If she could have seen her cheeks, she would have seen herself white as a ghost, contrasting with the dark red blood, but her vision faded, from the edges to the center.
Then it was black, and one by one all other sensations ceased as well.
The last thing she still felt was the warm afterglow of the best orgasm in her life.
When she was found the next morning, the police investigators were a bit puzzled. But then they decided to simply not mention the weird position the dead woman had been found in, her top half half on top of her lower, her womb pulled out, and one hand still clenched around her breast.
The report just wrote "Accident, One fatality, unidentified, female. Probably homeless seeking shelter."
Although the pictures the officers had taken and excluded from the report became quite popular in certain online circles. Although it was commonly assumed they were fake and that the photo had been arranged.