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Will It Hurt?

They didn’t pay the ransom so it was time for me to go - my body to be left somewhere public so the next family knew he was serious. He says he likes me and gives me choices, all but one seemed too horrible to consider. I am terrified, too young to die especially by any of the ways he describes, but one choice gives me a little tug deep in my lower belly that kind of feels like hunger. So I listen to my body because my mind is in riot.

“The one on the pole,” I say, my voice trembling, fear sending ripples of frozen tingles through my core, “Will it hurt?”

“Oh, yes. It will hurt.”

“But it’s sexual, right?” I ask, desperate to find some ray of hope in all this. I feel weak and I’m trembling, even my boobs jiggle in my fear, the friction against the material of my sports bra making my nipples tingle and pucker.

The room is a concrete box with a steel door, tools of torture and murder along one wall. The air is filled with my own stink and his; mine is body odour from not bathing for a week - stale sweat and crotch; his has a faint smell of garlic and honest sweat - because the room is so warm. All week I’ve listened to a boiler roaring from the other side of one wall.

The man considers my question then answers; “It could be, I suppose. But strangulation is easiest and takes less than a minute. I can make it very quick.”

“That scares me.” I whisper, not being able to breathe being a recurring nightmare when I was little.

“The pole doesn’t scare you?”

“Yes, but …” I feel that pull again deep down where my sex lives and shudder.

“I get it.” he says, “Like I said; it could be sexual.

“Let’s do that then.” I say, committing to dying that way, irrationally thinking that at least I would feel like a teenager losing her virginity.

He gets the pole out and places it in a hole in the floor that is just the right size so it fits snug. Then he opens a tin of lard and scoops out a handful, greasing the pole from its sharp tip down its length.

“I’m doing this for you.” he says as he makes the pole slippery, “Not to make it faster, but to make it not hurt so much. You know that, right?”

I nod, wide eyes watching him prepare it for me. When the pole is coated with lard, the man wipes his hands clean with rag soaked in solvent. It makes the room smell like paint.

“Which hole?” he asks me, and the question confuses me. Facing inevitable death is distracting, besides won’t the sharp tip make its own hole? Then I realize what he is asking.

My only experience with my bum was when I was little and would get badly constipated and my mom pushed suppositories into me. I remember squirming and crying as the first one went in, but once her finger withdrew I realized it wasn’t so bad. The second one felt okay - warm and relaxing. It got so I trusted my mom, dropping my pyjama bottoms and laying down over her thighs without a fuss whenever I got constipated after that. I remember her slowly massaging my bumhole before pushing them into me and the sensation taking my breath away.

My experience with my other hole other than hygiene was limited to Clayton fingering me in the back of a limousine after middle school prom last year. As we were kissing, he had got his hand inside my panties and a finger inside my sex as my friends watched. Then he curled it in there and through my embarrassment I felt a deep pleasure.

“Ever been g-hooked?” he asked and started fingering me hard and fast, his curled finger banging hard inside me, lifting my crotch upward as I slumped on the cushions, my head laying against Mandy’s boobs. It was brutal and hard but it felt good - squishy and wet and loud in the limo - and I knew if he continued I was going to pee myself.

“Jesus Christ, Taylor.” Mandy had said, pushing against my shoulders to get me off her. If she hadn’t done that I might have let it all happen, but I squirmed away and demanded Clayton take me home.

“Well?” the man asks, “We have to get this done.”

“My front hole, I guess.” I say, feeling the heat in my face as I blush.

“Okay.” he says and takes hold of my waist, moving me so my back is to the pole, then lifting me. It is alarming how easily he lifts me, like a doll, my legs dangling, my sneakers feeling heavy on my feet. I thought he might get me ready first like Clayton did, or even let me warm myself up to make it easier, but no - this isn’t sex for him, this is an execution.

He strains as he holds me up, his hands clamped around my naked waist, the solvent on them making my skin tingle. I open my thighs, letting my lower legs dangle and feel the sharp tip scrape my most tender parts through my shorts and panties as he tries to get me on the pole. I reach down and grab his wrists to steady myself, making whimpering sounds, my terror climbing high.

“Line yourself up.” he strains.

I let go of his wrists and reach between my thighs, opening them wider so I can grab the top of the pole. I move myself, trying to line it up, but I am shaking badly and squeal when I feel it sinking into the cleft of my bum.

“Lift me!” I cry out in panic, “Lift me just a little!”

The pressure of his hands increases as he lifts and I feel the tip leave my bum. I push harder on the pole to pivot my crotch backward and feel it dimple the crease of my sex. It’s in the right place.

The ‘right’ place - oh, dear god it’s going into my sex. I flash on feeling Clayton’s finger in there, wanting it deeper, wanting him to finish.

“… okay …” I gasp and I feel him lowering me slowly, my shorts and panties ripping, the pole pushing into me taking my breath away like my mom’s finger did, like Clayton’s finger did. He eases me down and I feel my sex expanding around it, feel the tip centre on my cervix, penetrating and beginning to stretch me open there.

“… oh god!” I cry out. This is happening! This is really happening!

“I’m going to let you go now.” he says.

“… no-no-no-no-no-no …” I cry out as I grip the pole tighter, my knuckles turning white as he eases me down. Shiver-bumps dance up my thighs, bum, and belly as it penetrates me deep and the sensations inside me would have been glorious if not for the inevitable outcome.

Oh, mommy, I’m going to die.

My body slides down as I grip the pole in my fists for dear life, my crotch coming to rest firmly against my wrists, the weight of my body pinning my hands there. I am shaking badly, straining to hold myself from sliding down further, the terror I feel overpowering the beginning of good feelings. I can smell the fresh skunkiness of my oily armpits wafting up from my body.

“Just let go.” he says, “It’s going to happen anyway.”

“… no-no-no-no-no-no …” I chant, now whimpering. The pole is so slippery and I can feel it slipping through my fingers as my body lowers by degrees. The muscles in my lower belly clench down as though they can grip the pole tight enough to keep it from impaling me. My mouth starts to water, drool dripping from my lower lip and coating my chin, as I feel my stomach tightening and fluid rising up my gullet.

“… gunna be sick …” I moan.

“Don’t torture yourself.” he says, looking up at me, “Just let go.”

“… don’t … want it fast …” I gasp.

“I’ll ease you down.” he says, and I can hear the compassion in his voice as he moves behind me. I feel his right hand come up between my shaking thighs, cupping my crotch, the pole between his open fingers. His left hand slides around my waist and presses flat against my clenched lower belly. Then he squeezes and it feels like a hug.

“Okay, Taylor.” he says, his voice calm, “Time to relax.”

“… I can’t …” I whine.

“Yes you can. Your belly first.”

I am crying as I continued to strain, realizing he is right; I can’t hold myself up here forever. Slowly I let my lower belly relax, pressing it outward against his hand.

“… you’ll let me down slow?” I whimper.


“… p-p-promise?”

“Yes, I promise.” he says, but can I trust him? The worst he could do is drop me and my weight would pull me swiftly down the pole and I would die quickly and brutally. But so far he has been kind to me and never lied. For a week he told me about contacting my parents, how they said they didn’t have the money, how he was going to have to kill me if they didn’t find it.

“I got you.” he says and I feel the pressure of his hand between my thighs increase, “I got you.”

“… okay … okay … okay …” I gasp, still gripping the pole between my legs, working up the courage to let go.

‘It’s inevitable’, I tell myself, ‘just do it … just do it’. For a week I have lived on water and tinned food, peeing and shitting in a pail, thinking only of getting out, of him releasing me. Now all I can think of is the next thirty seconds.

“… okay … okay …” This is it; I let the muscles in my legs ease first and they dangle on either side of my clenched fists. I slowly release my hands, feeling my weight transfer to his hands. I take a shuddering breath and let go of the pole, slowly leaning back against him as I slide down an inch, still supported by him, but taking the tip deeper into me. Oh my god, I’m full. My sex is full, so full. I’m not a virgin anymore.

“… ohhhhh god …” I moan, feeling the hard steel reach deeper inside me than anything ever has. New smells are rising from my body; an earthy hormonal smell from my crotch, and the coppery scent of blood.

“You’re okay.” his deep voice sounding seductive, “You’re okay.”

“… okay …” I gasp.

“Here we go.” he says and begins to lower me.

I breathe deeply and rapidly, feeling like I can’t get enough air as the pressure inside me builds. My tight cervix dilates around the tapered tip, pinching as it opens and the hard shaft slides into my uterus. It is the core of my sex, where sperm and eggs come together, where babies grow. But no baby will ever fill that part of my belly, no milk will ever swell my boobs. Instead the man is slowly easing me down on the pole that will kill me.

“… oh god … oh-god-oh-god-oh-god-oh-god …” I pant, feeling the sharp tip reach the top of my uterus, biting there, pushing deeper up into me. I feel it stretching me, elongating my uterus, pulling my sex up inside me, stretching the skin around my clitoris like a tight shoelace. It is starting to feel the same as when Clayton fingered me in the back of that limo, my friends watching me, me not able to hide the expression on my face and feeling the shame of it; I liked what he was doing and I didn’t want him to stop. Like I don’t want this to stop.

There’s no one to see me now and no shame in what is happening to me. It’s just the man and me - he knows this is sexual for me and is helping. I feel my eyelids flutter and my eyes roll up into my head. Now my arousal is growing stronger than my terror, and I pant with little shallow breaths as my sex is stretched so tight it feels like it’s going to snap like a rubber band pulled too tight. I feel the sharp pain as the tip punctures the top of my uterus, making a tiny hole that stretches wider. I feel bruised inside as the tension builds. I know what’s about to happen and when it does I gag and heave, my thighs shaking badly, my belly plumping outward as I feel the pole break through into my abdomen and my sex organs slide back down, clinging to the pole, my clitoris released from its bondage and such overwhelming feelings swelling in my lower belly. Good feelings. Back of the limo feelings.

“That’s a good girl, Taylor.” he says, “Let’s keep it going.”

He lowers me faster now, the steel rigid inside me as my bowels gurgle and moan, unused to this level of penetration. The sharp tip scrapes delicate flesh in my belly as it rises higher inside me. I remember the word Clayton said to me; ‘cum’ … “I’m gunna make you cum” he whispered. Up until then I thought only boys could cum.

“… gunna be sick …” I warn him as I squirm on the pole, my legs slowly treading the air as I slide downward, “… gunna throw up … gunna cum …”

“I know, baby.” he says tenderly, letting go of my crotch and wrapping that hand around me so both support my swollen belly, my back pressed against him like he is hugging me from behind. The spit is sliding upward and I begin quivering, shaking, my limbs twitching like I’m falling into a seizure. I feel the building pressure inside my core, sexual pressure, visceral pressure, the pole making it feel like there’s too much meat in there. My belly feels like it’s going to burst.

“Let it happen, Taylor.” he whispers and hearing the seduction in his voice I do; I release all tension left in my body and surrender totally. My fear is gone with this building storm in my belly, my core alive like never before. I feel piss spraying inside my panties and that vibration makes my clitoris throb. I hear myself fart as my bumhole loses its elasticity, then feel the runny shit burst from between the cheeks of my bum to foul my panties and shorts.

“Oh god!” I moan the last words I will ever speak as I throw my head back, feeling the tip pressing hard against my stomach. It feels like my guts are being pushed up my throat. I retch, gag, and projectile vomit my stomach empty in three violent heaves and my sex bites down on the pole as my cum explodes inside me.

I feel his hands ease off my belly and slide around my waist as he guides me downward. I am gagging, heaving, choking as the pole slides up my gullet and depresses the root of my tongue, my cum pulsing in spasms and waves. I open my eyes a slit and see the sharp tip appear as the pole slides out of my mouth, my teeth chattering against the metal, then my jaw bites down at the peak of my spasms and they shatter to bits in my mouth. My feet touch the floor but my legs have no strength and my toes are curled tight inside my sneakers. My entire body is quivering as he lets me slide down, my legs bending at odd angles as my thighs part, my sneakers sliding on the concrete floor. I am open and willing like a slut.

Oh god, what a horror he will leave for my mom and dad to find; their daughter’s mutilated corpse, skewered from sex to mouth, fouled with piss, shit, and vomit, left in a dank filthy alley. But as my bum comes to rest on the cold floor, the man lifts the pole out of the hole and pulls it up through my body and out my mouth as I lean forward, my hands limp like dead spiders where they lay on either side of me.

I gag one last time as the flat end of the pole slips over my tongue and out my mouth, and I try to gasp for one final breath, but inhale only vomit and blood. I fall to the side, my body slapping wetly in the mess I’ve left, my cum spasms echoing in what is left of me.

The man was good to me and only told me one lie; It didn’t hurt all that much after all.


Good stuff, good writing, encore. If you do another story make it longer a little more plot, maybe F/F but keep it semi consensual to consensual and well written like you do here. Thanks.

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