There is only a mild draft coming up from the sea today, which caresses my face and ruffles the last strands of my hair. Beauty in destruction: The beach on the base of the cliffs is gone and one can hear the surf crashing into the rocks, which one day will collapse together with our house, washed out into the everlasting and growing blue of the ocean.

“You’re pretty, old man.”

I hadn’t heard you coming back from your doctor’s appointment. It’s not every day that the old lady calls me pretty and rarely has she tears in her eyes, when she looks at me. You stand against the sun and I can barely make out your face, but I see you like the first time I put my eyes on you: fierce beauty.

You sit next to me on the bench and we look out to sea. You grab my hand.

“I’m dying.”

Something contracts in my chest and I don’t trust my voice, so I just nod.

“Will you grant me my last wish?”

I hesitate. I knew it would come to that and still I do not feel prepared. But I have run out of arguments.

“Yes.”

It’s a hoarse croak, but enough. You smile at me and I see in that dimpled grin not only the 15 year old girl I have fallen in love with, but also the wise matriarch who has chaperoned our kids and grand kids and great grand kids through all their ups and downs. It was Sam, our grand daughter, who put that idea in your head anyway.

You had raved for days: at me for my perceived indifference, at our son for calling you a hypocrite for denying his daughter the same right you had yourself claimed, when you pierced your nipples for our first year anniversary, a 16 year old rebel with a cause. On the night before Sam’s event you had ridden me mercilessly crying out with one orgasm after the other, finally succumbing to exhaustion.

“She will never feel this again”, you whispered full of despair into my sweaty chest.

You went with Samantha to the ceremony on a full moon night and came back shaken in the early morning. Another grandmother present at the scene had drawn a weapon and nearly shot her own grand daughter, when the girl jumped between the Colt and the midwife. You confessed later that you had contemplated a similar deed, but then and there you convinced Megan to stop any further interference and be just there for both your grand daughters and the other girls. Strangely you and Megan became close friends and although Megan stayed bitter about her failed rescue attempt for her grand daughter till the end of her days, you came away from the experience fascinated and tempted.

After having put Sam to bed, who had returned with you, barely able to walk but showing that brave, shy, proud, toothy kind of smile I so like in the females of my family, you plonked yourself into my lap and couldn’t stop talking, although you must have been very tired yourself.

“She was barely older than the girls, but having shaken off her first shock the midwife went to Megan, took her hands and apologized for having caused her so much distress.

‘I’m just their tool, so if the girls agree, I will stop this ceremony here and now.’

Megan looked at Patsy and there was so much love and betrayal and pride in Patsy’s eyes that even I was close to tears. Perhaps if she would have been alone, she might have reacted differently, but with the other girls huddling around her, it took her only seconds to nearly imperceptibly shake her head. That’s when Megan broke down defeated, heaving with dry sobs. I nearly missed the start of the ceremony as I tried to console her.

Mary had lifted up her daughter, her head cradled between her milk filled breasts, her legs pulled back to reveal her baby vulva …”

“Baby? You must be joking.”

“That was my first reaction as well and I understood even more Megan’s attempt at stopping this. But then Megan murmured in her handkerchief, ‘Damn Freedom of Choice Act’, and I remembered the fierce discussion about it. The compromise had been that under the age of fourteen, a parent can make any choice for the child, whereas once a child is over fourteen, a parent cannot interfere in any decision the child makes about her sexuality.

And I have to say there was a certain magic in the way Mary handled it: The moment the midwife did the little snip, Mary pressed her mouth over her baby’s and thus her baby’s scream entered her. It was like she swallowed Bartolema’s pain. After having sprayed the area with a kind of pain relief disinfectant the midwife lifted Bartolema straight to Mary’s breast, where she instantly seemed to have forgotten this life changing experience.

She kept even nursing her, while she herself sat back on the chair they had put in the middle of the wonderful setting: an open field with these big old rocks sticking up out of it, and the river flowing by where you could hear it."

“Miller’s Crossing?”

“No, further out. And they had put up a fire and torches all around the chair. Only the midwife had this strong headlight so she saw, where to cut …”

You turned your head and looked up at me.

“Are you grossed out by the story?”

“No, it’s just …”

You chuckled and rubbed your white, still untameable hair into my crotch.

“You’re getting hard, that’s what’s bothering you.”

Your naughty smile and sparkling eyes told me that now you would tease me mercilessly.

“Don’t worry, my knickers were soaked through at the end of the ceremony and I was quite happy to have chosen a skirt as my jeans would have shown a big, embarrassing spot by then.”

You rubbed your nose on my lengthening cock.

“I can smell you, did you forget your underwear again, you naughty boy?”

I saw you scissoring your legs. One hand had found your left breast, the one which always makes you squirm. And here you go: you throw yourself around, unzip me and look at my cock as it slowly unfolds from its hiding place. You look up, your mouth open, your tongue licking your lips.

“The snake is unfurling its tail …”

So you knew. Sam always called it snake. That’s what makes this story so embarrassing: Remembering the girls, when they were little, running around naked, between the house, my work shed, the garden, the beach … Their little games …

“Look Grumpy, Mary got some hair on her slit already.” And then they would giggle and would point at my tenting shorts to the squeals of ‘Snake, snake …’, before scampering off to return ten minutes later:

“Can we water the tree?” Somehow my grunts – hence Granpa became Grumpy – meant always yes for them and they would stand around the cherry tree, which framed the view from my work shed out to sea. They looked back at me making sure they had my undivided attention. And then to the count of three they would all pee, the yellow arcs meeting on the stem of the tree, splashing back at them to gales of laughter, before wiggling their sexy little butts to shed the last drops and dash off to some other mischief.

“Mhm, don’t you dare coming … I haven’t even started with my story.”

You took my dick out of your mouth and squeezed it just the right way to prevent any sudden mishaps. Well, two can play this game and my right hand found a surprisingly wet place to explore leisurely. Since your menopause finding you wet had become a rarity.

“So Ticia and Patsy were holding Mary’s legs open, while Sam and I were cradling her arms to prevent her from hurting her baby and Megan had finally found it in herself to be supportive and was pressing Mary’s head against her belly, stroking her hair. It was obvious that Mary was trying to be brave for the other girls, because she only hissed, when the midwife started to cut her lips. But then her legs started to shake and tears were running down her face and sooner than I thought the midwife looked up and warned us with a short nod of her head before I saw her pulling up with one hand and making a slicing, curving notion with the other. That’s when Mary went rigid and a keening noise started at the back of her throat getting louder and louder, her scrunched up face suddenly open with eyes big as saucers looking into the distance, her arms thrown wide nearly hitting my face, my arm protecting her baby, holding it to her breast and she goes: ‘Oh God, oh God, oh God, it’s so strong, it’s so crazy, I can’t … please … Oh God it doesn’t … and noooo …. It comes again ... ‘ And then she went limp, not really unconscious, but out of it, mumbling and shaking, stroking her baby, our arms, her face serene, just frowning each time the needle went in, while the nurse was stitching her up.”

“So she came, when she lost her clit?”

“Big time. It probably was her first and only orgasm. She told me in the car on the way there that she didn’t think sex was such a big thing. Well, it seems the first boy she slept with got her pregnant right away and then took a hike, which hadn’t exactly improved her opinion on that experience.”

“And I assume you tried to convince her otherwise … in your own subtle way …”

“Well, how do you explain someone the power of orgasm, if she never had … what’d you mean ... I can be subtle.”

“Yeah, right …”

There is a combination of lifting your eyebrows and squeezing your hand – especially if it’s around a sensible body part of mine - which is very convincing:

“Yesss, very subtle, very subtle … I thought …”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Well, nothing: I would have assumed that the girls had sufficiently played with each other to know how to get each other off. After all one day they had stormed my work shed in their naked glories, jumped up on my work bank, ignoring all the wood chips and tools lying about and while giggling and squirming opened their little cunts.

“Grumpy, we’re doing a competition and you have to decide, which pussy is the prettiest.”

Grunting wouldn’t do and diplomatic disaster loomed, so I took my time inspecting the ‘merchandise’.

“Mary, you got the most adult-pretty one as there is already hair on top and the inner lips are strong and thick and look out from your beautiful pouch with this big clit on top.”

Mary grinned her merry round faced smile, very satisfied with my verdict. But looking back now I saw the problem already then: Her clit was covered with so much skin it couldn’t get sufficiently stimulated.

“… murmuring to her, stroking her, while she lay there on this quilt all curled around her baby till the midwife confirmed that she would be fine and only needed some time to rest.

‘I’m next. But I warn everyone already now, I’ll scream my head off.’

’Can’t be worse than when you got your tattoo or that implant. I nearly died of embarrassment holding your hand through it.’

As much as Ticia tried to take Patsy’s announcement in a humorous way, the slight tremble in her voice as well as Patsy’s fake bravura showed that Mary’s experience had them all deeply worried. I thought there was still hope and exchanged glances with Megan, but she only shook her head in despair, obviously knowing all to well the stubbornness of her granddaughter. To my surprise Megan sat down on the chair and opened her arms to Patsy.

‘Are you sure about that, Gran?’

‘If I can’t prevent you from destroying yourself, I want at least hold and comfort you, while it’s done.’

I could swear Patsy had tears in her eyes, when she sat down, but I’m not sure as my eyes were cloudy as well and …”

“Patsy has breast implants?”

“What you’re grumbling about, old man? Do you actually listen or am I just talking to myself?”

“You said Patsy has implants …”

“She has a peace sign implanted on her shoulder plate …”

“That’s done per implant?”

“Yeah, where have you been the last twenty years?”

Well, where indeed. At the moment I was about ten years in the past, seeing feisty little Patsy, always the leader of this rascal naked pre-teen posse, sitting on my work bench, the smallest of the lot and very eager to show her little baby pussy. Even though doing the splits, there was barely a slit visible between her puffy lips. Till she reached down to open it up for inspection: No inner lips, just a tiny hood, with a happy looking pink knob peeking out.

“Patsy, you got the most young-pretty one as it’s just this prominent pouch with no visible opening and if you stay that way you’ll become a famous porn star.”

That brought another fit of giggles, after all becoming a porn star was regarded by young girls at that time as being a much better career choice than fire fighter or environmental engineer, what better sign that we were all dancing on the chair deck of a sinking Titanic.

“… looking at Sam holding the other leg I still hadn’t given up hope that seeing it up close in gory detail would make her flee the scene. But her eyes betrayed only admiration for Patsy’s courage, when the scalpel severed in two fast strokes the small flaps of skin which were connecting the outer lips to the clit proper, itself covered only by a thin membrane, which the midwife slowly carved away till all this superfluous tissue just hang on Patsy’s clit, now standing up like a tin soldier, bloody but unbroken.

‘Ready?’

Only now did I register that Patsy had indeed screamed like a banshee and was sobbing, her face a mess of tears and snot. Next to her Megan’s face was bathed in tears as well.

‘Wait, wait …’

Ticia passed her a handkerchief. Having attended to Mary she had come back from the fire just in time. Patsy calmed sufficiently to take a good look between her legs.

‘Is that my clit … ouch what’re you doing?’

‘I have to blot away the blood.’

‘Do that again, it hurts but also feels good somehow. Szzzn … oh yeah, it’s even growing. Look how big it is, it’s like she knows she’s gonna be ripped out today … Who wants to say good bye?’

Without hesitation Sam bent down and kissed it to the giggled-hissed reaction of Patsy. When Sam saw my astonished face, she blushed and smiled all innocently. Ticia gave it even a little lick, which produced a deep groan and a trickle of juice from Patsy.

‘Me too.’ Mary was standing there, all bow-legged, but smiling proudly, her baby in a sling around her milk heavy breasts. She actually took the whole little stick in her mouth, tangling bloody flesh and all. Patsy grunted, her legs shaking. Looking deep into Patsy’s eyes she opened her blood rimmed mouth with a smack

‘Mhm, you taste like during your periods.’

That brought a hearty laugh from the girls, which changed to an astonished gasp, when I bent down and gave it a little peck, followed by a similar chaste performance by the midwife.

Patsy smiled from one ear to the other.

‘Now I’m ready, hold my arms girls, I don’t want to kill my Gran, when I slash out, because I’m gonna ride this knife till that little monster can’t dictate my life anymore. Lulu take my clit … cut it off … make me clean … all clean and shiny …’

She kept on talking through her teeth, her eyes blazing, her face bent forward so she could see, how Lulu the midwife cleaned around the erect little finger, grabbed it … and cut through it with one fluid motion. I don’t know what came first: the spurt of blood or the gurgling sound which turned into a shriek so shrill my hearing aid cut out for a moment. I saw the stem of the clit jump back under the skin and I started worrying that all the blood would go inside. But Lulu fished it out again with one of the sewing needles and held a small device against it, which produced another scream from Patsy. She must have cauterized it as the blood had stopped and it was relatively easy now to fix it to the surrounding tissue as part of her closing all the wounds with an intricate needle work. With one finger in Patsy’s pussy, smiling every time it snapped shut, Lulu insured that the pee hole would stay free of obstruction, while at the same time leaving only a small opening close to Patsy’s little brown asshole, which kept on convulsing in rhythm to the needle going in and out, every time a whimper turning into another sob.”

“Ouch, what was that for?”

“You were nearly coming and we can’t have that. Not yet anyway.”

You grinned up at me, turning the tight grip on my balls into a tender stroke.

“I can’t imagine how these girls dealt with the pain. I remember when they stitched you up after Teddy’s birth, you were furious with the doctor that he did it without any anaesthetic. And at me that I just stood there dumbfounded and didn’t kick him out.”

“Yeah and that was just a small tear …”

It seemed the memory had some effect on you as another ripple went through your pussy and clenched my fingers. Well, revenge is sweet and I squeezed your clit.

“Oh Jesus, it feels like you wanna pinch it off, geeeee …”

Something must have changed. Instead of stopping your orgasm like usually, it triggered it, making you flop around in my lap, nearly tearing off my cock at its root, as you kept clinging to it. Suddenly you turned yourself around and plunged your throat down on my cock, your pelvis undulating to the rhythm of your sucking. Each time you went deep produced another convulsion in you.

“Give it to me, give it to me …”

It cost me an inhumane amount of willpower, but I took your face between my hands and pulled it off my dick, looking into your hungry eyes, your mouth frothy with your spit and my precum.

“Mhmh, I don’t think you deserve my spunk, now do you? You’re a very bad, dirty girl, because only bad, dirty girls come, when they get their clits pinched hard, don’t they? Only bad, dirty girls come when they see young girls loosing their womanhood. So what do bad, dirty girls deserve instead of spunk?”

“Loosing their clits as well …”

Your murmured confession had you blush furiously, your eyes going all wide and then glazing over. Your pelvis jerked and then I heard it: drrp, drrp. Your juice was hitting the couch and you just came without even touching yourself. While I still admired the marking of the sofa, your hand went soft around my cock: you had fallen asleep on me. In younger years I would have carried you up the stairs. These days I just pushed the opposite sofa against the one you were lying on and thus created a little love nest. Then I covered us both with a blanket, spooning you. My still rampant cock found its warm groove, which welcomed it with a squeeze and a sigh.

“Grumpy?”

Well, in younger years I would have fucked you in your sleep. Originally you called me a pervert for it. Then one day you confessed that it actually induced strong vivid sexual dreams that kept you horny the whole next day. Nowadays … I hear voices?

“Grumpy?”

“Sam. You’re ok?”

“I don’t want to wake Granny. Do you think you could help?”

It must have been early afternoon. I stumbled to the hallway, where Sam was waiting in the door to the bathroom.

“Well, that’s embarrassing.”

“You’re naked, I’m naked. So what’s new?”

After all nudity was always the norm rather than the exemption in our house, although only the grand kids made it into a ritual, especially when they showed up with their friends: ‘At Granny’s we show fannies.’ I was lucky when they allowed me my shorts in the work shed for obvious security reasons.

“Your thing is standing up and it’s shiny.”

“Well, that’s what you get, when a piss hard on comes from a wet place.”

Sam’s giggle ended in a pained grunt.

“What’s it, my love?”

She had found the edge of the bathroom counter and pressed her lower belly against it, her head resting on the mirror, eyes closed, whimpering.

“Slut that I am, I’m getting excited and that hurts. But apart from that I need to pee urgently and for that I should get rid of the bandage but that will hurt as well and I simply can’t get myself to touch down there. And I’m also afraid that peeing is gonna sting like crazy, so I’m really becoming a little frantic here. But I don’t wanna wake Granny because she was so helpful yesterday and it was such a long night and …”

Before she could continue with her rambling, I turned her around.

“No further dillydallying, what’s done is done. So up you hop on the counter and we see how we get rid of this thing blocking your beautiful new pussy.”

Sam sighed while getting in position, but I saw the proud little smile. A fearful frown and a hiss later my little finger had made sure that the gauze wasn’t connected any more to the stitches and with a short pull and a shriek the two band aids gave way to reveal a disaster zone waiting to turn into a beauty queen. Her rather thin outer lips looked bruised and swollen, with the stitches only closing the top part of her inner pussy, which had the obvious look of a fresh wound, while her hole was clearly visible in its wet glory.

“Sam, you got the most wet-pretty one as your fat little pleasure button always keeps your pussy excited.”

That’s how I described her so many years passed as she sat there on my work bench, just like now. And the proud knob … was gone … and still she was wet.

“Grumpy … Grumpy …”

“Sorry … down memory lane …Shall I assist you off the counter? Here we go. I’ll leave you doing your little tinkle …”

“No please, could you help me …”

She sounded like the little girl again.

“Shall I put on the faucet …”

“No, I need a distraction …”

The way she looked at my crotch …

“Not a good idea …”

“Please …”

Well, I could never say no to my girls and before I knew it, she was peeing and screaming around my cock, before resting her head on my belly groaning.

“I don’t know what hurts more, the burning of the pee or that my clit tries to raise her head she no longer has, with this thing here tasting like pussy and dick and being so hard and …”

“Ok, young lady … finito … wipe yourself and off to your bed.”

“Oh no, I’m not gonna touch down there, just a wiggle and then I let it dry on the sun deck, if that’s all right …”

I barely could hear the last words as I was back to our improvised bed in the living room and the warm cunt of my wife, where my aching cock finally wanted to find relief.

“Sammy, what you’re doing there?”

I had been distracted: After all my cock had found two fingers playing with your already sobbing wet hole, which guided me in till your amble bottom met my pubic hair. But you recognised the shadow falling on us from the side of the couch. Sam was gnawing her lower lip and pinching one of her nipples.

“God, you two look so sexy …”

“Come here, lovely.”

Wincing and whining Sam crawled into our nest and under the blanket, meshing her backside against your belly, her destroyed vulva just inches from our conjoint sex.

“Why don’t you tell your Granddad, how you became a clean girl yesterday?”

Sam sighed and giggled.

“I don’t feel so clean today. Rather dirty and horny. I had hoped that this would be all in the past and now I’m all wet and it burns and then I get tight and I want to touch, but there is nothing there … anymore …”

Sam sounded desperate again.

“Shsh, it will take time … Lulu did warn you that you have to be patient with yourself and that everyone reacts differently. Some loose all interest in sex. Others keep on chasing an elusive feeling they will never achieve again. Some find out that they still can orgasm but differently, by playing with their boobs for example.”

It was obvious that you did just that because Sam mewled and her hips undulated against your pubes.

“Quite honestly, I can’t remember all the stuff Lulu said because the moment she warned me that I have to be brave as my clit was really big, my brain froze and I barely could think anymore. That was also the reason I asked Ticia to let me go after Patsy, otherwise I would have lost my courage. But it’s easy to get Ticia to do things: Just touch her twinkie, lick her stinky juice from your fingers and she is putty in your hands.”

Stinky juice … My dick jumped in your pussy, which answered with a squeeze, as I remembered Ticia sitting there in my workshop, her legs spread to reveal a plumb pussy emitting a strong acidic odour:

“Ticia, you got the most smelly-pretty one as your unwashed little treasure has all the dicks hard in a three mile radius, knowing that there is a randy girl close by.”

Ticia wrinkled her pretty nose amidst a sea of freckles, shook her curly red hair and opened her pussy lips, revealing tiny flaps covered in white yellow cunt cheese.

“But I always wash …”

Jumping from the bench, they other girls screamed in protest, running behind her off to the sea: “We will wash Ticia’s dirty pussy …”

“… shaking all over, I was so happy that you held me and whispered to me, Granny, because when the first pain hit I thought I would never be able to take it. But when you said I should just let it all out, that it’s ok to show the pain, I could cry like a little girl, really cry like I hadn’t in a long time. I couldn’t even stop when Lulu looked up at me and I knew this was the crucial moment. I just wanted the pain to end and kept nodding my head and then it happened.”

“What happened, Sammy?”

Your laboured breathing and the tight fit around my dick told me that you were close to orgasm.

“Lulu must have used the scissors with me as first there was a stinging pull and then this crunching feeling, which hit me deep in my bones. And then … I don’t know how to describe it: Like floating in space and suddenly being pierced by an arrow and you’re loosing air and the arrow glows and gets bigger and burns you up from inside and you’re still all light like a feather and can’t breathe anymore and at the same time there is this heavy pulsing pain in your middle … and then nothing … and all …”

Sam squeaked and sighed and wiggled and … you groaned, your pussy vibrating around my cock … once, twice …

“Oh Granny … so nice.”

I started slowly moving my dick, while you staid still, shuddering. It took some time till you found your voice, a whisper, a growl.

“She’s asleep now. You better start fucking this hole and you better don’t dare coming till it’s all dry and painful.”

That evening both you ladies were wincing when sitting down, but somehow you both looked very happy.

And that’s how it started, your obsession. You kept me informed about the progress of the girls. At first the photos looked like car accident mug shots, later their individual beauty had me salivating and you humping my leg till we ended up fucking like on our third honey moon. There was Patsy, pulling her legs back so her plump pussy split to reveal just a hole on the bottom, a sight so convincing that you had to look twice to remind yourself that not all pussies looked like that. There was Mary and Bartolema lying on top of her like the miniature version of her mother, identical in their simple clarity of two thick outer lips, but nothing else. And then Sam was proudly grinning into the lens, her open crotch showing her two tangling, thin outer lips, the emptiness between glaringly evident. You couldn’t stop looking at Ticia’s photo. She had opted for the most invasive procedure and had actually fainted during the evening: A full delabiation, which left her with a smooth crotch dissected by a thin white line ending in a tiny hole, not even visible from front. She looked like a sexless Barbie, elated that with her genitals she had also lost her stinky smell.

It started with pinching your clit and ended with full blown fantasies, where you brought knives to our bed so I could fake your declitting. You experimented with orgasm denial for weeks. You tried to numb your clit with fire, needles and even pain killer injections. I played along, sometimes even with enthusiasm. After all it was sexy to see you struggle with yourself, here your strong libido, there your strong will not let your clit dominate you, your eyes burning with unrequited lust while I spent myself in you. But it became more and more difficult. After all, more often than not, it was your orgasm, which triggered mine, and without it I also felt bereft. It came to a head, when you set out my carving tools next to our bed and asked me to carve you a new pussy, this time for real. It became one of our biggest rows, only comparable to the one we had, when I decided to take up the job for managing a furniture factory up north. It started with ‘No one touches my carving knives’ and ended with ‘It’s my body’ with different versions of ‘You never do what I want’ in between. But as it happened with our Northern adventure, this time also you’re about to win the fight, graciously as always, but still. Then it ended with me having to admit that design rather than management was my talent and with you bringing us back down here to the coast, your new job strangely already waiting for you, while I started to build up my own design consultancy. Now your sickness forces my hand as we had agreed that I would only regard your wish if it would be your last one. In my darker moments I imagine that you became sick just to show me who’s the boss in our relationship. And then I remind myself that our agreement allowed me to still enjoy your uncut, pristine pussy for several years, their many folds and mysteries a never ending pleasure, even if I knew that sometimes you held back to play your little denial games.

Everyone is excited that you want to become a Moon Sister like the girls, which were cut that fateful night. Patsy has asked us to use a multicam, so she can be there and see the event from all angles, even while saving the little what’s left of the Amazon. That will allow Mary, who moved to the East with her new lover to follow the procedure as well. I tried to use one for presenting my designs to a possible buyer some years ago, but I failed to set up the holographic function properly and the different angles didn’t mash together in the right way. So I leave it up to fifteen year old Bartolema, who had come with Sam and Ticia, and for whom using the camera comes as naturally as eating or drinking. I wouldn’t know about the third call of nature as I could imagine being cut as a baby changes your perception of sexuality. Lulu gives me last advice, we spend the last week in discussion, how to best use my carving tools to create the desired effect of a smooth pubis. Now a mother of three she looks more the midwife than all these years ago and Sam is counting on her to help with her third one due in three months.

I feel nauseous and strangely relieved that this contentious part of our relationship will finally be resolved for good. I force my hands to stop shaking. Nowadays they just tremble on their own any way without any exertion or excitement for reason. Although my knees are killing me I insisted on kneeling in front of you, perched as you are on this old chair, which they really found again, hidden away in some attic. To prevent any light pollution on this beautiful full moon night only Lulu’s narrow surgical beam is illuminating your pussy and my tools. She’s ready with that little vacuum of hers, to clean the area as I work along. I stroke my knives. I know I won’t use them again after this. Your cunt will be my last piece, my final work. Your pussy looks swollen, brown with disinfectant, your clit peaking out of its hood. I can’t resist and kiss it. You giggle.

“Make me new, my love, make me beautiful.”

I can barely make out your face, up there where moonlight meets darkness, but I see fear and elation and … nearly a century of living with me. Now it’s my lips, which start to tremble. I can’t succumb now. I need clear sight and concentration. So I just do it.

The first two incisions open your outer lips from top to bottom, which allows me to scope out the fatty tissue within. Your grunt changes to whimpering, when I scrape inside your lips. You sound like the first time you allowed me to fuck your ass: painful resolution. Although your sixteen year old asshole could barely take my small finger you willed yourself not to clamp up and allowed my fat cock to penetrate you one inch at a time.

I see your hole opening and closing as I cut the inner lips up to your hood. Your whimpering changes to bellows, when I start freeing your clit from the surrounding skin till it looks like a bare red finger sticking up into the night sky in a mocking salute to decades of excellent service. I hear Patsy on the monitor encouraging you to scream. Somewhere up above me Sam, Ticia and Bartolema are holding and soothing you. It’s like a birth … only in reverse.

As agreed I pull the skin of your outer lips into your vulva, where it meets the open wound of your inner lips and staple it together. Lulu and I could convince you to use surgical staples instead of my upholstery ones. Still you start hollering as soon as the first one goes in. This changes to sobs with the last one and with my attempt at soothing you by stroking your tiny dick between my fingers, using the little blood, which Lulu left, as lubricant.

“Oh you bastard, you’re wanking me … like a boy’s cock, oh you’re such a pervert, stop doing that, cut it off, you promised, cut it off, I don’t want it any more, cut it off …”

When your hole pushes out and your peehole contracts to release a constant trickle of squirt juice, I take my best knife and cut through your clit, as even as possible with the skin, where it leaves your body. Lulu instantly sucks away the blood seeping out before using her little laser. I look up to see you bent forward, rocking back and forth, your eyes deep pools of vacant black, your mouth open in a silent scream. You’re riding the pain train. I fix the skin around the burn scar with three more staples. That’s when you scream and collapse, your body shaking like in an epileptic fit. I feel Lulu jumping up to check your vitals. I see your pussy turning inwards, pulling the new rim formed by the skin of your former outer lips inside, leaving just a thin black slit. For an instant I hope that this is it and you are spared the agony of a long drawn out death. I’m not sure if I’m sad or happy, when Lulu announces that you’re fine.

You grow weaker by the day. Still you can’t get enough. You’re insatiable like when you first discovered how much fun it was to have a dick up your pussy. My dick, to be precise. Or when you discovered the pleasure of having it up the other hole. Or actually having it up both holes, with our dear friend Anthony providing the appropriate tool for these occasions, while Betsy looked on jealously. So you consoled her by licking her out, while you took us both. It helped that you both were small girls, as thus I could lift Betsy’s beautiful blond pussy above my chest and you could dine on it. You always assured me that you preferred cock but I kept finding Betsy’s blond pubic hair in our bed on the odd occasion, when you two girls met without us gents around. Pity that, when we left to live on the coast again, we lost contact, especially also for the kids as they had been great friends. Sometimes I wonder how Betsy’s pussy would look like without her little puny clit.

You even manage to make our trips to the toilet into little erotic adventures. I had been afraid I would feel disgusted, but here I am being sucked while I hold you upright as you take a dump. Weak as you are, you still managed a heartfelt laugh, when you put the clothes pin on my nose.

Just the other day you managed to gather enough force to push me down on the toilet and sat yourself on my dick in reverse cowgirl with a satisfied sigh, while your pee trickled down my balls. I came when I reached around your thinning body to dry your pee hole, sticking out from your lipless hole, and the raw surface of the scars reminded me of the former beauty of your lips.

The kids try to stay in contact, even the ones far away. Weekends now resemble Thanksgiving and you are exhausted and revelling in all the attention at the same time. Lucy’s recent visit stands out, however. Sam’s ten year old daughter took the bus herself to our little cottage. I think Sam wasn’t amused about her flunking school and going on a trip all on her own, but you reminded Sam of her own youthful antics and she calmed down and actually drove out to collect her daughter.

“Say goodbye.”

I had to look twice to recognize that my pretty great grand daughter was carrying around her neck my wife’s most precious part. So I kissed the glazed red stick in the middle of the pendant right there between her budding breasts to the giggles of the little beauty and then she kissed my tears away, all excited and teary herself.

“Lucy will join St. Agnes, when she’s twelve, so she will have her teen plus medical then. To know how it feels to carry it around her neck instead of between her legs I borrow her mine. And when she’s done, she will pass it on to one of the other girls in our family, who are contemplating the little snip.”

So this was what it was all about, the whispering and giggling the whole afternoon.

You had a bad night and I had to change all the bedding. Coming back from the laundry, the empty medicine bottle and your look says it all:

“Lie with me … naked.”

There are tears running down my wrinkled cheeks, while I cradle you in my arms. Your hand is weak and still as purposeful as your mischievous smile, when you start stroking my dick, which against all expectations still rises to its former glory.

“Help me.”

Barely a whisper. I lift you on top of my belly, slowly pushing your frail body in the right position, your empty cleft lining up with my cock. One little twitch so often practiced that it resembles a moth drawn to the light and the tip of my spear feels the liquid warmth of your unadorned hole. Like always I can’t stop myself and push in, sighing with the incomparable feeling of possessing you. Strangely enough since your cutting you are always wet, contrary to before, where lube was the obligatory accompaniment of our love making. Did you shutter just now, when I bottomed out, so much deeper than before, the rim of the scars parting to leave my pubes pressing straight against your pink insides? I grind myself against the little rough skin on top, which replaced your former prominent knob, the lack of which so mesmerizing and sexy that I feel my dick grow another inch. Suddenly my rage against you leaving me takes over and I hammer into you, shouting my pain, your body shaking like a rag doll. Nearing my orgasm I realise your convulsions and just stop in time to see you smile up at me and your eyes dimming, while your bladder releases its last pee. That’s when I come and say good bye.