“Becky, could you sit still please.”

“I’m bored. Why did they force me to see you?”

“Well, I’m sure they didn’t force you.”

“Telling you they kick you from school, for which my father paid lots of money by the way, if you don’t see this shrink, social worker, whatever, sounds like ‘forcing’ to me.”

This was more then just puberty, this was chieftain’s daughter meets ‘Public School’. So why did she see me? Someone in Social Welfare must have thought because I spend some time in Africa before finishing my degree in child psychology that I would know how to deal with this ‘devil’s advocate’ as they called her. It wasn’t like there weren’t any specialists in that particular field working with certain migrant communities, but it seems they didn’t feel comfortable dealing with ‘posh’ cases and cases, where the victim is the promoter.

“Do you feel free talking about it?”

“Oh yeah, I talk about it all the time. My girlfriends always tell me I should stop scaring the younger girls with it, but then they come and say show it, in the toilet, in the showers, in the evening, when they feel horny. I bet you wanna see it too.”

Before I could even protest, here she stood: fourteen year old Becky, with her knickers down her ankles, lifting her skirt, with one feet on the chair. I cursed my open therapy approach, where I tried to prevent any barriers between myself and the patient, because a table would have come handy now, as my instant hard on tented my trousers. My attempt at hiding it by bending forward only aggravated the situation as it brought my face even closer to Becky’s pussy or what was left of it. It was strangely odourless, only the faint smell of a young girl’s sweat. The sight was something else: the thick outer lips were bound by a green fibre, which left enough space to reveal the lack of anything between, no small lips, no hood, no clit, just an empty slit.

“I see you like it.”

Her wide smile and naughty twinkle in her eyes told me that trying to hide my erection didn’t really work. Though she wasn’t a beauty to the prejudiced eyes of a Caucasian, with her flat nose and bulging lips and her high front leading to the thin braids covering her round head, her expressive almond eyes and ivory teeth as well as her vivacious nature could very well dazzle anyone. It was easy to imagine disappearing into the jungle never to be seen again, having fallen prey to these charms.

“It’s no problem for us to show it, because it’s not sexual anymore. It’s just a hole to be filled, when the brani breaks and it’s time to conceive.”

“Brani?”

“This.”

She stroked the green fibre.

“When it gets drier and brown it makes a nice noise, like leaves rustling. We call it the ‘masutlali’, the noise of new women.”

She moved her hips in a way that the two lips moved against each other, which only produced a pussy fart. She giggled and fell to the chair laughing, with her legs open to me, showing her open hole behind the green thread.

“No, that’s not it. The brani is still too green.”

“I think it’s better you put your knickers back on.”

“Why? I like showing it and you like seeing it … obviously.”

She looked at my crotch openly with obvious relish, moving her hips, fucking the air like an imagined lover.

“How does it make you feel, when you show it?”

I had to try to reflect on her behaviour, not the least because I couldn’t explain my own. Why would the sexless crotch of an underage victim of sexual mutilation produce such a strong sexual reaction in me?

“Naughty.”

She giggled.

“Look, I get even wet, though it’s all gone.”

She put her ring finger between the green leaves and showed it to me after having it reappear covered in clear fluid.

“Wanna taste?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, but tasted herself with the tip of her tongue, before sniffing her finger.

“Doesn’t taste like much anymore. Nor smell: A little bit like pee. A little bit like pussy. A little bit like pineapple. Sure you don’t wanna taste?”

She had replenished the now whitish covering of her finger.

“Some really like it. They call it the true virgin’s juice. There is that religious nutter in fifth grade, she put the word out that tasting it prevents you from fornicating before marriage or something idiotic. So sometimes they queue to get some and I tell them to frig themselves in front of me, otherwise how could I produce so much juice without something making me horny.”

She had started scooping it from her hidden hole to lick it off with relish.

“So why was I sent here and not that stupid cunt?”

I started to understand, why no one wanted to take up that case. Well, with this age group there is a secret weapon: if they think they can act like an adult, let’s treat them like one.

“First of all you are the one dealing out your cunt juice, which isn’t exactly normal. Secondly you’re the one whose pussy has been destroyed and who states that she wanted this done to her, which isn’t exactly normal either. And thirdly you’re trying to convince other girls that they should undergo the same inhumane and senseless procedure, which reduces a sane young girl with sexual feelings concomitant with her age into a trussed up hole waiting to be impregnated. This definitely is not normal.”

She suddenly looked sullen and turned around in her chair, sitting for a change in a more demure fashion, the disappearance of her naked modified sex a welcome relief to my straining cock. Till I looked on the ground, where her knickers showed fairly clearly, that on a Friday she was still on her Wednesday panties.

“Ok, I confess to point two, but the other two are not of my making. I don’t proselytize, I didn’t even want that the other girls know about it.”

For a fourteen year old she had quite the vocabulary.

“It was Kjerstin, my best friend, she really tried hard to convince me that I shouldn’t go back home to have it done. So when I came back, she saw right in my face that I was changed and demanded to see the ‘damage’, as she called it. And then she just flipped, when she saw it and called everyone together. What should I do? Run to the toilet to hide?”

“Well, it seems to me you’re rather proud about it and you like showing it, don’t you?”

“Only since I saw the other girls’ reaction. At home we don’t show it, because everyone knows how a girl a certain age looks like, when they hear the ‘masutlali’.”

“But you must have told them something that convinced the other girls that they want to look like that as well. After all there are several complaints by parents that their daughter’s asked for clitoridectomies on their next home leaves.”

“Yeah, stupid girls. I don’t know, they ask me how it feels and I tell them, that’s all. But they don’t understand anything, they think it’s like making their boobs bigger.”

“So how does it make you feel?”

Now it was back, her radiant smile.

“Free, clean, horny, ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“For my first man, for my first baby.”

“But you’re only fourteen.”

“That’s old enough. We don’t live that long, where I come from, so we have to start early to taste from life. And the ‘brani’ takes some time to break, you can pee on it as much as you want. My cousin was sixteen, when she had her ‘o’vao’.”

“Agloao.”

She couldn’t stop giggling.

“No, it’s way back in your throat: ‘o’vao’. It means the first born. When the ‘brani’ breaks, you choose the boy you like the most and get him to fuck your empty hole till you’re pregnant. When the baby is born you’ve shown that you’re ready to be a wife and are given a husband by the tribe. I’m an ‘o’vao’ and that’s why I would be adviser to my younger brother, when he becomes leader.”

“I don’t think I quite understand, but I don’t think it’s actually relevant …”

“No, it is, because that’s the reason I’m here in school and my older brother studies at Harvard and why my father was against me coming back for my ‘masutlolo’.”

My stupid face was enough by now to get her to translate for me.

“’Masutlolo’: making me a woman. In our society it’s the youngest ‘o’vao’, who inherits, not the actual genetical sons and daughters of a husband. The other ‘o’vao’ are then advisers. ‘It keeps the tribe healthy’, my grandfather always said to me.”

It seems a stupid face can be quite expressive.

“Most of the time there is more then one wife. So my father has three wives, now everything clear?”

“I still don’t …”

“Being adviser is much more powerful than being king, because people actually listen to you, whereas the king is just there for ceremonies. But him being still the head of our tribe, people pay a lot of money to kill him, with all the Europeans coming in, trying to get to our minerals. That’s why he sent us abroad to learn the Western ways and to be safe. He wanted us to survive and to bring back the fight against female genital mutilation, because having been brought up by the American missionaries, he thinks it is an abomination against the will of God.”

She snorted in derision.

“So why …”

“But my father’s sisters, his advisers, told me long time ago that the people won’t listen to me as adviser to my younger brother, if I hadn’t gone through the ‘masutlolo’, and I agree with them. It’s not a mutilation. It’s a rite of passage, an embellishment, an improvement, making us women more prone to reason than the men, who only chase for the next possibility to put their pricks into something warm and sticky. That’s why they always raid the neighbouring tribes and rape their women and start senseless wars, which only helps the foreigners, because they use these fights to get their fingers on our land. If they steal the women, that would be something logical, because we always need more children. Of course these women would have to go through the ‘masutlolo’ and most of them are older and for older women it’s more difficult to survive it, but still …”

She had talked herself into a rage.

“Women actually die during the masu …whatever?”

“Oh yeah. It’s the sign of a good ‘sutlolimasutlolo’ that she doesn’t loose too many girls, because she decides when they are ready, but still it happens. The sister of my older brother died two years ago on the ‘i’kub’, but she still managed to ask for the worm to be taken out. When you die during the ‘masutlolo’, you always stay with your family, because the worm is fixed to the door and all the women touch it before going in or out. Every time it gives you a little ‘bzzz’.”

“Bzzz?”

“Like an electric shock in your pussy, even the three year old sister of my younger brother likes to be lifted up to touch it, because she says it makes her pussy all tingly. We always have a big laugh.”

“But with all you women cut, there is nothing there which can make ‘bzzz’.”

“How should I know, it simply does.”

“What’s the ‘e-cup’?”

She broke down giggling again, it seems my grasp of her language was somehow lacking in nuance.

“’I’kub’ and I’m not allowed to tell you. I shouldn’t even have told you the name. It’s a secret ritual only we women know, not even our men are privy to that knowledge.”

She sounded all formal again, like she was groomed to become the head of protocol to her nation. But two can play this game.

“Listen, Ms Adviser. If ever there should something happen to your father and for whatever reason he needs medical treatment, the chances are fairly high that he might end up somewhere, where our authorities would be able to grasp him, and they certainly would in view of the state of your genitals. So you’ve got one chance and one chance only to convince me that you did this voluntarily and that you’re mature enough that you actually can make this decision.”

She looked like a rabbit hypnotized by the eyes of a snake.

“I might add that as a doctor I’m bound by secrecy and nothing, which will be said between us, can be divulged in public. My conclusions are another matter however.”

“So no one except yourself will ever know about the ritual and no one will know that I told you about it?”

“Exactly.”

“How will you reason your conclusions?”

Whatever they give them to eat in this tribe, it must have some intelligence enhancing qualities, because this girl was way out of the league of any other teen I knew.

“’Due to extensive and intensive interviews it was clear that the victim herself asked for the procedure as part for her preparation to her future political role, which she will play in her ethnic group. Under the rules of this group she is regarded as an adult able to make this decision. Her parents had no say in the matter.’ Something like this.”

Her wide grin broke the grey mien, which had take over her usual jocund face, when faced with this dilemma.

“Ok, and you better be good to your word otherwise the curse of all our women will be set upon your soul. We normally don’t talk about it, because every woman knows, what it means, so I might be lacking words to describe it. But if it’s ok, I will play with my ‘brani’, it helps me remember.”

Although it meant looking at her cut pussy again and loosing my professional cool, I nodded my agreement. After all, this time she actually asked, it meant that we were getting somewhere.

“The first thing is that the ‘sutlolimasutlolo’ checks if you’re mature enough. She touches your boobs, looks how long it takes that your nipples get hard, how big your clit grows, when she rubs it, how thick your hymen is, if your asshole opens to take your finger and if it is able to grab the finger really hard. She asks about your periods and demands that you pee in front of her, put a finger in and drink it, so you’re able to describe to her the taste. Then she takes her stick and uses it on your backside till the skin breaks and you bleed. If you manage this without crying it’s a good sign. She licks the blood, if it’s strongly metallic this is good. The most difficult part, at least for me, was to show my skills as a housewife. She had to scold me several times as I didn’t clean properly or the food wasn’t hot enough when served or I didn’t dress the new baby of my stepmother in the right way. Anyway she took me, but during the weeks in the woods she was especially vigilant that I improved my skills in this area.”

“So basically the ritual is more of a special school for up and coming housewives.”

“More or less, but you also learn how to please your husband. We have this plant, when you cut off its head, the stalk looks like a penis and when you rub it long enough, the sap shoots out. But the sap stings, so you learn to wank this thing in a way that the sap doesn’t touch your skin. The difficult part is sucking it because getting the sap in the mouth is hell. It tastes bitter and burns on your tongue for a day. But the trick is to take it really deep, then it goes straight to your stomach and you don’t feel anything. In front of the hut there is a trunk, which has different sized stems sticking out, and every morning we were sitting with one of these stems in our asses making manioc flour. Look, since then I really can open it wide.”

She had turned around kneeling in the chair, pulled apart her quite voluptuous backside to reveal a little brown ring, which suddenly opened and closed like a fish on land.

“Thanks Becky, I get the picture.”

It was fear of the consequences, which prevented me from raping this young vixen here and now, her winking asshole an invitation, only angels could resist.

“When the ‘sutlolimasutlolo’ thinks we are ready, the grandmothers arrive to check on us and, while we are cleaned, they whisper our new names to us.”

“What’s yours?”

She grinned like a girl playing hide and seek.

“Nhnh, not telling, it’s only my grandmother and me who are allowed to know this name. It’s the one, which gives you strength in difficult moments.”

The movement of her hips accentuated her naughty smile.

“But I might tell you the translation, if you do something for me.”

“Do something …”

Her legs were flapping in obvious excitement, the opening and closing of her empty pussy a sight to behold.

“Show me yours.”

Her look at my crotch was obvious, still the feeble rest of my professionalism was trying to win.

“Show you what?”

“Oh come on, show me your cock, if you let me touch it, I tell you everything.”

“Why would you want to do that? It can’t give you pleasure anymore and aren’t you supposed to wait for any form of sex till the ‘brani’ breaks?”

She was squirming, rubbing her boobs like a cat in heat, making mewling noises.

“No, on the contrary, we are not allowed to have babies, but we can fuck with our two other holes whoever we want and no one in the tribe can say no. That’s why I hate being in this school so much. Seducing girls is fine, but I miss the taste of cock.”

Suddenly she jumped at me with the agility of a leopard and before I could even push her away, she triumphantly held my dick in her hand, purring with satisfaction after her first lick. Now it was my turn to make funny noises, which ended in a guttural groan the moment my cock travelled down her throat, the velvety massaging of her gagging throat having me instantly at the brink of filling her up with my sperm.

“God, I love that, makes my hole so tight.”

She only took seconds to heave down air before kissing my pubes again with something very solid lodged down her gullet. This time it was useless counting the stripes of the wall paper to hold off my succumbing to this devil’s seduction. Although Isabella had drained me with one of her morning rides, I came with gallons of spunk straight to Betty’s stomach. I even had two little afterspurts, which she was drinking directly from the pee hole, licking languidly.

“Yummy.”

She was smiling, her eyes sparkling up at me, when she suddenly turned around and without a second’s hesitation sat down on my cock taking me up her backside chute in one fluid movement.

“Agh, that’s even better. Now I’m ready to tell my story.”

I was lost for words, my cock even harder now, although I just had come. She pulled her T shirt over her cone shaped breasts and without thinking I started playing with her pebble like nipples. She sighed in obvious delight.

“It’s ‘the little bird, which flew away and nestles in the breasts’. You understand?”

I didn’t understand anything and she must have felt the question marks hanging in the air.

“The name my grandmother gave me?”

I had troubles concentrating, as every time I pinched her nipples harder, her asshole nearly amputated my dick.

“’Little bird’ is also a word we use for clit and all this skin, because if you cut it away it looks like a little bird. But the word she used is ‘b’eki’, which is a special little bird only seen very seldom and it sounds like?”

“Becky.”

“Now you get it. And ‘nestling in the breasts’ is a phrase we use for going home, for being somewhere safe.”

“So she told you that you will go to a foreign country but will come back home, but also that your clit will fly away and …”

“And that my pleasure will reside in my breasts, can you feel it?”

“Oh yeah, but you’re not coming, are you?”

“Oh no much better, it’s this longing feeling in the pit of your stomach, this ache in your loins and then the pussy keeps cramping without your control, but also without this explosion in your brain, so it’s much clearer, much more enjoyable.”

“And in your language you can say all this in a name?”

“Isn’t it beautiful? I couldn’t stop smiling and thinking about it, even while she was cleaning me.”

“Cleaning you?”

“The grandmothers take away all the skin, so all what’s left is your clit, and believe me even the smallest clit looks like a skinned little boy’s cock, when you lay it free. And then we go back to the village and everyone is allowed to play with it and, although they use a paste, so the cuts heal faster, it takes some time and you start pleading that you’re allowed to the temple.”

“Because it hurts?”

“Because you come so often that coming starts really being too much. Especially the kids are vicious, they like pulling it and laugh, when it makes you explode every time and you fall down and make funny noises. And your clit never goes down, with all this attention it sticks out. The girls at school tell me that boys have something called ‘blue balls’, when you play with them, but don’t let them come. Well, I always imagine, it feels like that.”

My balls definitely felt blue, having emptied themselves a minute ago and being called to action again, with my dick sending messages of pure pleasure from a dark place, where it was regularly strangled.

“The older boys just use your mouth and your ass and that’s ok because after some time you stop being sore. But the ‘sutlolimasutlolo’ takes care that everyone is healed well before the ceremony starts in the temple.”

“That’s where the ‘e-cup’ is?”

“’I’kub’.”

The effects of her giggling sent another wave of bliss up my spine.

“The God of the Iron Spit.”

She shuddered, when she said the name.

“It’s actually more of a cone and it’s all brown, covered in the blood of all the women before and you become part of them that way. You have to sit on it yourself, the ‘sutlolimasutlolo’ only helps you to find your second mouth.”

“Second mouth?”

“Inside. Where it hurts.”

“You mean the cervix, you dilate the cervix? In a thirteen year old child?”

At that moment I failed to see the irony of my indignation, because my dick seemed to grow another inch in the bowels of a girl now barely older, as the image of Becky piercing her hymen and then the tight opening of her cervix kept repeating in my mind.

“Often the girl has to ask to be helped, because she can’t get it all in and then the ‘sasusi’ press her down till she sits. By that time, I can tell you, you scream, because it hurts so much. But when you sit, you’re also proud because you’re stretched like having a baby and you feel so ready to loose that clit of yours as it keeps getting harder and harder and it bobs up and down like it wants to say good bye. But you have to wait for the gold.”

“The gold?”

“The ‘sasusi’ pour molten gold through a pipe under the ‘i’kub’ into forms, which you have chosen and are positioned in front of you, so you can see them slowly filling. But of course the pipe heats the ‘i’kub’ and the longer you can stand the heat, which burns your pussy, the bigger your dowry. So it’s a real fight. When I started to smell my pussy cooking, I couldn’t stand it any more and asked the ‘sutlolimasutlolo’ to let my little bird fly away. Well, I actually screamed it.”

“And that’s how you lost your clit?”

My hand had found its way from her stone hard nipples to her closed pussy, where I managed to push my finger under the ‘brani’ to touch her scar. By a pure act of will I managed not to come. She sighed dreamily.

“And the blood sprayed out over the gold and I screamed even louder and then I felt the big needle with the ‘brani’ stitching me up, while water shot through the pipe cooling the ‘i’kub’ and the water hit the gold and there was steam everywhere and somehow they must have helped me down, because I only remember lying on the cool stone floor and one of the ‘sasusi’ was pouring something into my hole.”

“Probably to prevent scarring from the burning, how a cervix can survive such a treatment is quite puzzling anyhow. You must all be permanently open and the cases of miscarriage must be frequent.”

“I’m not sure. It’s true I feel much more open inside now and it feels really sexy, but not many women loose babies. But then we’re all stitched close as soon as it’s clear that we are pregnant. It’s like with the ‘sasusi’.”

“What’s with this ‘Susies’?

She had another fit of giggles.

“’Sasusi’, the lost girls. When a girl gets lost in the jungle or is abducted by another tribe and then returns or when she’s sick in her head or if she doesn’t want to marry, then she belongs to the High Priestess and lives in the Temple and it’s said that they are all bewitched, because after some time, when they reappear, there is nothing left.”

“Nothing left.”

By now I sounded like a parrot.

“No breasts, no pussy, not even a small hole, even their mouths look like stitched together, but you don’t see any stitches or scars.”

“That’s physically impossible.”

“I tell you, they are barren, they never have children and, when they bless the fields, which is part of their duties, they do it by peeing out of their assholes. My older brother’s sister once followed one of our goats behind the Temple, where we normally are not allowed to go, because it’s the way of the dead and she saw them sitting around a big pot with something coming out of their noses. After that she was terrified of them, I think that was the reason she died during the ‘masutlolo’.”

“So they feed through their noses and they killed your sister, because she knew too much.”

I was sure that Becky’s exuberant youthful laughter would draw the attention of Ms. Foster, who must have returned to the waiting room by now, eager to bring her most troublesome student back to the boarding school. Would Jenny, my assistant open the door to announce her and thus reveal this most embarrassing situation, ending my career for good?

“No, you see too many Hollywood movies. She was just afraid of them and therefore probably didn’t concentrate enough and hurt herself inside, when going down on the ‘i’kub’. And so she remained at the Temple and only her clit came home to us.”

“But she was dead.”

“We women go all to the Temple to die, so she was already there. But we, who live through the ‘masutlolo’ get our clits, when we die. She has to wait till her youngest sister brings it back to her.”

This tribal mumbo jumbo was getting all too much for me, especially as the prospect of Jenny’s face peeking around the corner of the door had me at the brink of coming again.

“When they cut the clit, they put it in this sticky clear fluid, which makes it hard like a little red piece of wood and then it’s stuck into one of the cracks in the Temple’s stone wall and every time we visit to pray we kiss it and then we remember, when it was cut, and it makes you shiver and your pussy all tight, I miss that feeling.”

The memory must have been powerful and her clenching asshole and rhythmical wiggling brought me finally over the edge and I emptied myself into her to the sound of her satisfied groan.