My Cybernetic Clitoris

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My vagina was sliced when I was only a baby. I’ve never known real sexual pleasure, nothing alike what my girlfriends tell me of having with their boyfriends. I’ve barely ever fingered myself; never felt the urge. Had I been born fifty years ago, it would´ve been impossible to repair my broken body, but the technology of today is nothing less than amazing. Doctors and engineers on Earth have developed prosthetic implants that flawlessly integrate their circuitry into the human nervous system.

I don’t blame the religion of my biological father for mangling my vagina. People say it’s religion why they do it, but it’s a lie. The customs of genital mutilation are regional, they’re concentrated on specific geographical areas. Whatever religious basis people claim the cutting of girl babies has, it doesn’t weigh nearly as much as the real reason: the idolization of virgins. Fathers want their girls to be sexually inactive through their puberty, so they’ll remain virgins until marital age. Mothers want the same; they want their girls to be “good” and stay out of trouble. The removal of a girl’s clitoris is the eradication of her desire. A desireless woman is like a doll, or pet, and it never bites the hand that feeds her – or hits her.

The economy and employment laws for women working on Mars have improved considerably in recent years. Thanks to the governance of mayor Sharla Shiva, Mars is truly turning into a utopia for women, a world of true equality, which Earth could never be. As a result of the economic boom, many cybernetics doctors have moved to Mars and established private practices in the colony of Exopolis-1. Sharla’s taxation policies have made this planet especially attractive for companies specializing in the female prosthetics industry, so much so that many women now visit Mars to meet with the best of surgeons.

My biological father is no longer around. Like a gift from God, he was murdered by a local gang during my twelfth birthday. I don’t mean to sound cruel, but much time has passed since his death. After his passing, my mother remarried and we took a rocket to Mars. Time, as well as living on this planet has provided me a better perspective on exactly what kind of man my father was. I no longer feel anything for him, I deny myself the pointless grief.

My mother’s new husband is a mild-mannered ataşehir escort man who speaks few words. He has wandering eyes and a coy, sincere smile – or so I thought. He immediately made friends with my two brothers, winning them over by buying them gifts. I didn’t pay enough attention to realize what exactly he was bribing them with. It wasn’t just electronics, entertainment and sportswear that he bought them. He works in mayor Shiva’s security force, so naturally he’s very connected and very, very wealthy. I failed to imagine just how much money he’s stashed away, until my 18th birthday. I was surprised, but far too excited to think twice about his expensive gift. I assumed he had spent years saving that money for me, though thinking back on it now, I was stupid as well as narcissistic.

My father promised me for my 18th birthday that he would sponsor a surgery which will install a cybernetic clitoris into my vagina. I was so happy, I actually hugged him for the first time ever. Had I not lived my life void of all desire for physicality, I might’ve been more attuned to the varying types of hugs people give each other. Even so, I managed to feel something odd about his embrace; it was a glimpse into his true intentions, which became clear very quickly after my surgery.

I had never felt sexual pleasure. The first time my lower lips quivered under the gentle buzz of my newly bought vibrator, I squealed giddily. My womanly tunnel was so lubricated from the excitement I would drive the vibrator in, full length, over and over again. Finding the opening to my uterus for the first time was like a surreal dream. I switched through the many settings of my toy, savoring even the sensations that prompted uncomfortable contractions. I spent an entire afternoon and evening in my room that day. Pain, joy, surprise, messed-up sheets, my first orgasm – after a lifetime of celibacy, masturbation made me a junky for pleasure. My week after that was a wreck; I kept stealing quick sessions in the bathroom of my part-time job, missing out on work and making my boss angry. I stayed up late watching internet videos, reading articles, stories, discussion boards – I even made a move on this guy in the library, gave him my first kiss – on his penis!

I was bad, with no clue of what I was doing, but avcılar escort I could tell he liked it regardless. I had just read on the night before that guys are crazy about blowjobs, many of them not even caring about their quality. Meeting a stranger, public place, awkward flirting, dirty bathroom – the story alone got both of our blood running. My first blowjob was better than any video I had watched. Sure, it wasn’t very flashy, with a condom catching his load, no music on the background, my stiff tongue… However, due to my horrid technique, he lasted long. I made him last. Knowing how bad I was, I resolved myself to making my first fellatio the wettest, longest, most vivid and unforgettable experience; a memory this boy would brag to his friends about for decades.

I still savor the memory of that encounter. It was embarrassing, but also something I did on my own, out of my own desire. My new-found sexual life, thanks to my cybernetic clitoris, brought on the best week of my life thus far. It’s ironic that my introverted, abstinent lifestyle which was imposed on me by a surgeon’s knife preceded yet another period of enslavement through surgery. What I know now cannot save me anymore; all technology that brings freedom and prosperity can be turned into tools of oppression. In the case of cybernetics technology, it is completely possible to install a control chip into the prosthetic.

My step-father paid the doctor to insert into my vagina a machine that can be activated via remote-control. With the press of a button, he turns me into a cat meowing in heat. I resist him in spirit on my sober moments, but it is without question that my body belongs to my daddy. When he flicks the switch, I spread my legs and my juices start running. My inner tunnel floods so much the floodgates part. His whole fleshy length reaches the opening of my uterus, making me almost wish he’d maximize my pleasure by entering bareback. Whenever I mount resistance, like refuse to wear the embarrassing outfits he buys me, he turns off the prosthetic. I can’t live without sex anymore, and daddy has made sure it’s his cock that holds the exclusive rights to my pleasure. As mad as it may sound, opening my holes to daddy is less painful than returning to my previous state. I rather digest the contents of his balls, or bear avrupa yakası escort his children, than lead a life lacking orgasms.

My mother doesn’t know. My younger brother doesn’t know. Only my elder brother, who apparently has always incestously lusted for me, has allied with my stepfather. I never knew my brother, my own flesh and blood, could yearn for his sister’s body with such fervor. The strength with which he thrusts into me reveals just how much he enjoys drilling my slobbering cavern. Unlike dad, who always uses a condom, my brother prefers to blow it inside me. If we’re in missionary, he stares hungrily into my eyes, and when we switch to doggystyle, he often slaps my butt with both hands. I hate it and I love it, because I’m addicted to their needles.

I’m taking birth control pills to avoid impregnation, a fate which undoubtedly awaits me. It could be my brother, or my father, but I feel that it will happen, as we have sex so often. My brother never fails to squirt his seed inside, as my pussy is the only place he wants to finish in. Even if he did use condoms, it’s fact that condoms do break – especially if the thrusting is as violent as my father’s. What worries me most is that my brother has stopped masturbating. Yes, he has completely stopped stroking himself to pictures of other girls. I know, because he never locks himself in the shower room anymore, and all his porn and girl posters are gone. He saves every drop just for me.

I actually think my brother wants to make me pregnant, I think it’s some twisted fetish for him. He wants the excitement of knowing any time we do it, he may fertilize an egg. Maybe he even wants to watch my belly grow, dump more loads in me, make me grind on top and watch my figure changing as months pass, revel in the knowledge it’s his semen that made the magic happen. I can’t imagine this is about his sense of romance, making me birth his child, but who knows.

I am a slave. I admit I am. My existence is split between my public life and my secret sexual life at home. It’s not a life of happiness, but of constant, inescapable pleasure. I have already resolved to enduring my situation, but I can’t imagine this staying a secret forever. However, what I fear most is not the humiliation of others learning my secret, but what’s happening with my younger brother. As he’s right now hitting puberty, I’m noticing signs that daddy is courting his allegiance. Me and my younger brother are already growing apart, sharing fewer and fewer conversations on a daily basis.

I have exactly three holes for penises to enter – three holes for the three men of my family.

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