A year had passed after Lilli’s ordeal. A long year full of both physical and psychical pain. As her physical wounds were healing, depression was increasing, eating Lilli’s soul and more and more separating her, like a concrete wall, from the world. It took a very long time for her learning to deal with her new, empty sex. More than once, laying in her bed in the tormenting, sleepless and endless hours before dawn, her right hand slipped to her crotch in search of that small pink button, finding just an empty spot and a tiny, neat scar. And every time she felt lost, violated, hopeless and cried all her tears, progressively slipping in an abyss of despair and self pity.

She couldn’t deny that, once healed, her vagina looked quite nice and clean, her outer lips framing her empty hole. Having her pubis constantly shaved for hygienic reasons during her recovery made her used to that strangely appealing baldness, so she continued shaving her pubic area well after her healing. But that was all.

She hated herself, hated her body, finding herself more and more unable to live a normal life. It seemed that her creativity was gone with her clitoris. Her work was heavily affected: her colleagues and bosses looked in astonishment to her incredible, abrupt change. Whispers multiplied around her. Although everyone speculated about her obviously impaired health, nobody had a convincing explanation for it.

They were witnessing a deep, apparently uncontrollable downhill, evident in her dull eyes, her pale and growing thinner face, her untidy clothes, her apathy. After some months, her position in the company became questionable.

Lilli felt – and actually was – totally alone with her pain and despair. By that time she barely opened her mouth. She passed hours and hours at her desk still, mute, with unfocused eyes. And from time to time she didn’t even find the strength to get up, laying all the day in her bed.

She had broken all ties with Dora just after being driven home after the operation. She made immediately clear that she’d been betrayed by her and wanted her to get off her life. In those very first days she repeatedly thought about denouncing Dora, the doctor and the clinic. But it meant revealing what had happened to her… and the shame had been stronger than her desire of revenge.

She was quickly running to the bottom of the abyss, just few more steps separating her from the final disaster: she risked to loose her work, her home, even her dignity. The only alternative was the suicide, and she contemplated it more than once.

Nobody can say by sure what happened that sunny Friday afternoon in the late summer, ten months after the operation. Lilli had waken, that morning, feeling as miserable as always, too wake for doing anything, not even getting up. She just stayed lying on her back, eyes blindly staring at the ceiling. She didn’t even noticed she was peeing until she felt the warm stream damping the sheet.

“Damn!”. She slowly got up and ran to the bathroom. Looking at herself in the mirror, she found a stranger, very different from the former Lilli, more like a scarecrow than a human being. “How could I do that to myself?” she thought, feeling shameful and guilty.

For the first time after her mutilation, she looked at herself whit critical eyes, a hint of her former self-esteem in her now glowing sight. She felt hanger rising inside her, a burning feeling quickly replacing her sorrow and her need of self destruction.

Although Lilli wasn’t really conscious of it at that time, it was the beginning of a new stage in her life. The week end was devoted to reconstruct at least some material sides of her daily life: she cleaned her home, went out for some shopping, the hairdresser, some good food. It was a very different woman who entered her company’s building that Monday morning, on time like she hadn’t been in almost a whole year, well dressed in an elegant business suit, the hair shortened in a glamorous cut, a general look radiating self confidence, determination, a recovered energy.

That new Lilli didn’t go unnoticed. As quickly as she was regaining her ideal weight and her mood was increasingly getting better, her famous creativity was back at work and her social life was improving day by day.

Going back to the past months, she couldn’t say why and how she’d been able to climb out of the abyss. But she did know that she was now in peace with herself, her body and her mind. It wasn’t exactly a whole acceptance of what had been done to her sex. It was more a new self consciousness, the understanding of the new limits – and opportunities – of her new life.

The scars were no more aching. There was just a very tiny white line marking the spot where once her clitoris was. It continued to give her a feeling of emptiness, of an irreversible loss. But at the same time it was something of a defiance. Now that her body and mind were truly healed, she could feel the endless arousing, an increasing horniness, a growing need of a release. It was frustrating and sometimes painful, but it was nonetheless a mighty challenge.

She remembered what the evil doctor had said: “This is what you’ll remember all your life long. Not the pleasure, not your sinful, vicious orgasms, but this clean, sharp, purifying pain”. She’d been only partially right: sure Lilli remembered every single instant of her atrocious ordeal, the pain, the panic, the shock. But she remembered as well her orgasms, her long masturbating sessions, her pleasure slowly growing until the final explosion. She longed them. She needed an orgasm again, not only in order to give a rest to her body and mind, but also, maybe first, in order to demonstrate to herself that she was stronger than her evil executioners.

She started some methodical, almost scientific tests on her own body. Her external pubic area was definitely, hopelessly numb. No manipulation of any kind could cause even the minimal reaction. She started then to introduce her own fingers in her empty vagina, followed by bigger and bigger vibrating dildos: no results at all. The doctor had been very thorough cutting and removing her whole clitoral nerve: not only no more clitoris, but also no more G spot.

She took a pause after several weeks of those frustrating attempts, her horniness even more disturbing, her vagina growing swollen and sore. It was late spring by that time. She took a week off and went to the sea, getting solace by the sun, the sand, the waves in that beautiful small village on the coast. She was alone on the desert beach. Alone and, most of the time, totally naked, provided there was no risk to be spotted. Her secret was safe, her body was gaining strength, she could even say she felt happy for the first time in over a year.

She had planned a break in her experiments. But the need of an answer to her attempts was pressing her. It was a clear, moonlighted night when she started inserting with an extreme caution her second right finger in her ass. She’d been never used to have anal sex. She tried it once or twice in the past, but she didn’t liked it. “I’m doing it for the sake of science”, she thought with a short laughing, half serious half self-mocking.

At first, she just felt annoyance while her finger fought its way, pulling hard against her little hole until she managed to insert it partially with an audible “pop” of the muscles around it. It’d been a moment of sharp pain, quickly followed by the scaring feeling that her finger was trapped half way in her asshole, her body curled in an unnatural position. It had been just a second: immediately her mind took the control again, forcing her to slow her breathe and to relax her contracted muscles.

Slowly, millimetre after millimetre, her finger found its way in her ass. Surprisingly – she didn’t expect it at all – she felt a sort of tingling. Slowly, almost fearing what she could discover and feel, she started to move her finger back and forward, back and forward, back and forward…

That almost forgotten feeling started growing, a hint of pleasure and warmth rising from her ass, finding its way through her bowel, her stomach, her throat, up, up, up to her brain. The urge of a long missed release was quickly becoming unbearable. Not even noticing what she was doing, her left hand rose to her not pierced nipple, frantically playing whit it, squeezing, twisting, pulling, scratching it.

She felt her juices flowing from her vagina, marking with wet spots the sheet under her. Her whole body was tense, her legs shaking uncontrollably, her asshole contracting savagely around her finger, her head moving incoherently, her eyes wide shut, her mouth open, a silent scream, no more than a gurgling, surging from her dry throat and mouth.

Minutes passed, then an hour, two hours… She felt crazy, constantly on the verge of an orgasm, frustratingly unable to cross the line but at the same time unable to stop. Her body was covered in sweat, her muscles aching, her eyes filled with tears of anger, lust and need, a desperate need.

Feeling desperate, her asshole sore, her nipple hurting, eventually she was about to surrender to that ominous truth: no matter what she could do, she was unable to get an already impossible release. Her mutilated body refused to give her the pleasure she craved, she desperately needed.

She was trying to convince her reluctant hands to stop their frantic yet apparently pointless work when suddenly, without any warning, she crossed the line, feeling like her body was ripping apart, a blinding flash of white light, an endless bolt surging from her mind. She arched in an impossible angle, feeling the waves shaking her body, a finally satisfying storm concussing her body, erasing her self-consciousness.

When finally the storm passed, she collapsed on the bed, her finger still stuck in her ass, panting heavily, her heart pumping like a steam engine. When she regained more or less her composure, she looked at the watch realizing she’d been in that delirium more than two hours. But wow, she had won her challenge. Her first orgasm after her declitting, her so long desired, needed, searched orgasm had finally arrived.

She was so happy, so excited yet exhausted that she ran out of the room, out of the bungalow, ran through the beach and plunged in the black, icy water, dancing and cheering like a lunatic. Even more exhausted, eventually she collapsed on the wet, cold sand near the shore, panting and laughing and crying until the sun rose from the sea. It was the dawn of a new era. Another new life had begun, another Lilli was born.

The end

© Ilarya Merlin 2009

Ilarya.merlin@hotmail.it