French, literally, "The small death."

It means an orgasm, if you didn't figure that out.

The little death

In the late 1800s and early 1900s la petite mort simply meant the brief loss (or near loss) of consciousness. A fainting spell, or severe dizziness, as one might experience after a nasty shock.

In 1949 Arthur Koestler used it to refer to the "self-transcending component" of an orgasm; apparently referring to the loss of sense of self one might feel when orgasming. It is often used in this sense, to link the orgasm to death.

It has more recently gained the meaning of passing out (or at least blacking out) during an orgasm. (This phenomenon is more common in females than males, although uncommon in both). This may have originated in the 1970s, perhaps in The Joy of Sex.

It is sometimes written La petite morte, but I believe that this actually translates to 'little dead girl', and is incorrect.

La Petite Mort was actually believed to be a cause of death at the time. It was believed that having too much sex could lead to death. There are many references to this in old manuscripts, most notably Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales".

As to why they thought this would be believed, I do not know for certain. When I asked my english teacher (who is very big on english history) she said she didn't know the reason, but offered "These people were very big on their bodily fluids". Visions of "Doctor Strangelove" begin to come to mind.

SilentElkOfYesterday's teacher actually was most likely 100% dead on the money right. Beliefs like that were based on the ancient greek theory (promoted later by Galen) of the four humours, which tried to explain the workings of the human body based on a balance of four fluids or humours. Frequent ejaculation (among many, many other things), it was believed, could destroy that balance and make a person ill or even dead.

We've all lost a lot of friends over the years. People die. It happens. However, I must admit that nothing prepared me for the way in which my friend Mark died. How I even came into possession of the story is questionable, but it is a true story. It is a warning beacon on the journey of life that serves to remind us that we are never safe. There is always danger somewhere. Often where we least expect it.

Mark was a puppeteer. He was once regarded as one of the best and brightest of a new generation of puppeteers. Mind you, he didn't work in libraries. He worked on center stage. Following the death of a certain master of puppets, Mark's life was forever changed. The core group of American puppeteers went off in new directions, dumbing down their art and shooting for the lowest common denominator. Gigs in the industry weren't paying that well for Mark, so he came to work with me at a tool warehouse. We worked late at night, putting tools and screws in chronological order. Sometimes Mark would stay until morning. He liked the pretty girls who worked in the office during the day and liked to sip coffee with them and nibble on tasty crullers while standing next to them. He was lonely and in need of female companionship. He was desperate to end a lengthy period of many months without any kind of sexual fulfillment. Being an out of work puppeteer was not much of an aphrodisiac. Neither was being a tool and screw sorter.

Whenever we stayed the entire night so we could encounter the pretty office girls in the morning, there was a feeling of exasperated giddiness. Sometimes Mark, at my suggestion, would lean over and brush his cheek and part of his lips against the bare thigh of one of the boss' five secretaries when they walked past his screw sorting table. They seemed to like when he did this. One morning two of the women asked if Mark would mind if they came to see him one night. Disinterested in my lusty glances, they emphasized in my presence that they wanted to visit him when he was working alone. Since I was going on vacation to Iowa the following week, they were able to schedule an appropriate visit. Little did Mark or I know, but their visit was intended to be very inappropriate. They had ideas and they were not the kind of ideas that are safe for sane people to think about.

Whenever Mark was left alone on the night shift, he became very jittery. It was a big warehouse and a cold little office. The light played tricks with your eyes and your ears were often jarred by strange sounds emanating from unknown places. There were rows and rows of screws, tools and machine parts out in the warehouse. Sometimes one of the items would fall to the concrete floor and roll under the shelving. You would never know what happened and your mind would question the event. Was someone lurking out there in the warehouse? Were they lurking with the intention of causing a lonely employee pain, dismemberment or death? Mark was never sure, and without me being around to settle his nerves, he was jumpy as a June bug in mid-July. The rumors that circulated the office added to Mark's discomfort. We had both been on the job less than three months. The previous night shift employees had not lasted very long. On one particular night we had looked at the employee files, which was wrong, but we did so out of curiousity and not maliciousness. The previous night shift employees had vanished. All were terminated after failing to show up for work without calling or giving any information as to why they failed in their most basic responsibility to report for their shift.

It surprised Mark when five of the office girls showed up together at four o'clock in the morning. Although he entertained the idea that they were serious about visiting him on his late shift, he never truly believed they would actually show up. He had just finished counting and sorting a pile of three-quarter inch bolts when they buzzed the security door. He let them in with a smile, and that smile grew broader when he saw they were all dressed in outfits that would never be allowed during normal office hours. They all looked as if they had come from an underground club where risque fashions are a requirement for admittance. He looked each and every one of the ladies over as they walked past him slowly, turning his mind into a fertile field with a seductive gentle swaying of their hips and just enough bounce in their step to cause their ample bosoms to jump ever so slightly and bring desirous attention to themselves.

Mark was beside himself, but fully hypnotized by these five women and the lusty looks they were throwing at him. Their flesh was on parade. Their little dresses, skirts and blouses could not have been more revealing without fully exposing their precious private parts. Their bare arms and legs beckoned to Mark and their wonderous cleavage titillated him with the ever present threat of breasts leaping free at any moment. The fact that they could not stop moving slowly and seductively in a circle around him left Mark speechless and aroused beyond any measure of past experience.

The horror.

Scanning employee records had also shown us that a large percentage of female employees had left the company after becoming pregnant and others were making use of maternity leave. This did not seem important to us at the time, but it should have. Our lack of attention to detail would come back to haunt us, as it did when we failed to realize that differently threaded screws did not belong in the same bin, regardless of their similar size.

Kara, who worked as the network administrator, was a married woman who was said to have conceived a baby with her husband just a week before. She took the lead role in the visiting group, and took command of the events that would follow. Mark was strongly attracted to her and could not resist her charms. Kara knew this all too well. She took him by the hand and led him into the manager's private office. As Kara sat Mark down on the manager's desk and leaned him back so she could unbutton his shirt, the other women circled. Their hands and mouths began to taste and touch Mark's exposed flesh and they went wild with desire after Kara tossed Mark's now torn shirt onto the floor. They could not wait to devour him. Mark was mad with blind and lust-filled fever.

The women bared their bodies to Mark and anxiously sought out their share of his sexual attention. He was under a spell and his descent into horror was spiraling out of control. They pulled him down on the desk and attacked with tongues, lips, hands and teeth. They pinned him down and stimulated him through oral methods considered unacceptable by most in western civilization at this particular point in human history. It was terrifying.

According to my information, it was at this point that the mounting began. It would be accompanied by simultaneous vaginal enclosing of his breathing apparatus. Mark was in heaven, but sensed something was wrong. This heaven was a direct road into the depths of Hell. He could not breathe, and as the stimulation of his groin area grew more heated and intense he struggled to find the air he needed. This slow suffocation was no way to die, but the other events continued to stimulate and overpower Mark's survival instincts. He could not see, but knew he was being mounted by one woman after another. They were sharing his bounty amongst themselves. Then Kara pulled one of the other young women away from Mark's air starved face. She lifted herself onto the desk and straddled Mark's face with her thighs.

"There are no souls left in the universe," Kara told Mark. "Therefore you will breathe your dying breath into my womb so that my baby may be born with your soul."

Was she mad? Mark wondered this for the fraction of a second it took for Kara to hike up her insanely short skirt and lock her bare legs around his face. He could not breathe at all now, and the constant rhythmic gyrations of the other women riding his manly organ like a teeter totter affected his ability to concentrate. There soon would be no life in Mark. Kara's thighs began to crush his skull and as breathing became a dream Mark could no longer realize, he expired between her legs.

His body was thrown in a dumpster the next morning. No ceremony was ever held. I tried asking questions but they advised me against further investigation. I was warned that my time would come. I'm not sure whether or not I should begin looking for another job. This one has ended so badly for so many others. The horror...


Submission for Everything Quests: Scary Stories
Although it is not without some degree of guilt.
This story is absolutely true and some names have been changed to protect the innocent children
born from the couplings of the roving orgasm death cults.

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