Repost at the request of an anonymous reader in the 'Terry, Jen and the Terrigenesis' thread.

This story is also available in PDF format: http://s000.tinyupload.com/index.php?file_id=04929501319408577828

If you like it, you might also enjoy some of my other work: 'Lara Croft and the Temple of Tezcatlipoca', 'Extreme Holiday Sluts', 'Tina's TSA Trouble', 'Spring Cleaning' and 'Terry, Jen and the Terrigenesis'.

Susan: a Girl Apart

written by Mephistopheles and JestInPieces

Foreword

In 2013, an author by the name of Mephistopheles wrote a story on the literature section of gurochan entitled ‘Susan’, containing the first two chapters of this story. I really enjoyed the concept, so while we were waiting for the third chapter I decided to write a short chapter about the morning after.

When it became clear that Mephistopheles was not going to continue the story, I took over writing the story with his permission, since I did not want to let such a good premise go to waste. Now that the story has been completed, I figured I’d edit in into a book so I could apply some proper formatting (the layout options of gurochan are rather limited) and fix some of the mistakes and inconsistencies. Specifically, some times and dates have been fixed, the first two chapters have been edited to consistently be in the past tense, some stylistic differences between the two authors have been reconciled and the protagonists’ ages have been increased by three years. They’re still too young for my taste, but this was about the maximum I could get away with and still have the story make sense (inasmuch as a story about two girls taking each other apart can make sense).

I hope you enjoy reading, and if this story inspires you to write your own tale of consensual vivisection, please do. There’s far too little of that kind of material out there. If you want, you can even use Susan and Cassie as the protagonists. I’m done writing for them, so why not let another writer take them for a spin? I’m sure there’s more stuff these two could get up to.

Monday

Susan was fifteen when she discovered she could take herself apart.

Everything started on a Monday. The last class of the day was biology, and today the teacher had brought out several anatomical dolls, which she distributed around the classroom to let the children learn on their own. One of them went to Susan and her best friend, Cassie, and they spent the class disassembling and reassembling it according to their teacher’s instructions – or occasionally not according to her instructions. Cassie thought it was hilarious to swap its feet around, which annoyed Susan a little; she wanted to try making it stand, and the feet wouldn’t fit properly that way. Being fair to Cassie, nothing really fit in any orientation; if it wasn’t lying on its back, it’d easily fall apart. Retrospectively, later events happened as they did mostly because of that doll, but she didn’t realize that for over a year.

After class, Susan and Cassie left school together, as always. They lived next to each other, so the only times when they wouldn’t walk home together was if Cassie had to go to her parents – they were both veterinarians, and would occasionally ask her to meet them at work if they were going to be particularly late that day. Susan’s own parents were practically never home before midnight, but Susan had grown used to that and was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Even so, Susan would often stay with Cassie until late in the evening. Today they both had an unusual amount of homework, though, so they went straight to their respective homes to work on it.

In all honesty Susan would have liked to be working on it with Cassie, but because they were on different study tracks their homework was usually very different. No helping it, really. Biology was one of the few classes they did share, which is probably why they spent a lot of their walk home talking about that class. What did they say, you ask? Well, it’s not important right now, but it does mean Susan was still thinking about it – in particular, she was thinking about the way the doll’s feet come loose – as she entered her house. That will become important shortly. Susan’s bedroom was on the second floor, and every time she got home she’d start by going there to change out of her uniform. Of course she’d close the door first, even if she was the only one in the house. So she skipped up the stairs, across the upper floor and into her room, then slammed the door before jumping on her king-sized bed…

That’s how it would usually go. Susan was a somewhat messy child, and had left some LEGO on the floor, so the moment she entered the room – holding on to the door – she stepped on the LEGO piece with her bare foot. As anyone would agree, that is one of the most painful experiences you can go through, and Susan certainly wouldn’t claim otherwise. So as her mouth opened in a silent scream, she fell over on the spot, pulling the door with her until it slammed shut with a curious pinching sensation. Susan didn’t notice, though. She was preoccupied with the pain from her right foot, the one that had stepped on the LEGO piece. The LEGO was practically embedded in her sole, its bottom side with its almost-sharp vertical walls having lain upwards, and for quite a few seconds she was in too much pain to think about anything but how to stop it. If she’d had a giant pair of scissors at hand, she might even have claimed she’d consider cutting off her foot – but of course that would be impossible, right?

The pain was sharp at first, then settled into a dull ache, and the LEGO piece was still stuck in her foot. Susan’s mother had warned something like this might happen if she didn’t start cleaning her room, but she hadn’t really believed her, or perhaps she thought if she waited long enough her mother would clean it for her. Too late now. The poor girl poked gingerly at the LEGO piece, which vindictively sent a sharp pulse of pain through her foot. Then, thinking she might otherwise lose her nerve, she grabbed the LEGO piece and pulled, sharply, quickly extracting it before there was any time for the nerve signal to reach her brain. Then she curled up around her foot for a bit again, because that hadn’t felt very good at all. Examining the damage afterwards, she found that it had actually broken her skin, if barely – there was a thin line of red in the shape of a rectangle, with tiny droplets of blood at irregular intervals. Susan was at this point close to tears; if anyone else had been at home, she would definitely have been crying, but she knew well enough that she was the only one there and that she would have to help herself.

Using her bed to pull herself upright, she gingerly put weight on the foot, then winced – quite painful, so she immediately sat down on the bed. You’re supposed to wash and bandage wounds, though, so after a moment to gather her courage… well, no. She remained on the bed for several minutes as the aching of her foot slowly receded, until her image of the pain she’d be in for fell beneath her pre-existing level of courage.

The house had two bathrooms, either of which might have done for bandaging her foot, but of course she decided to go for the one on the second floor. It might be a little smaller, but it was still a full-size bathroom with a tub and shower, even if the shower was part of the tub. So when she hopped off the bed, leading with her left (unmolested) foot in order to minimize the pain, and simultaneously reaching for the door handle – well, she quite reasonably expected to be there in only a few steps, keeping her weight off her right foot and on her left. When she stepped in a hole just off her bed, dropping at least six inches extra and falling forwards, she could just as reasonably feel terribly surprised.

Down she went, Susan, for the second time today. Since she’d already grabbed the door handle, she managed to avoid pancaking into the door, but only because the door swung open and she swung with it– hanging on for dear life – until it opened too far, and her hand was wrenched loose. Susan dropped, hit the floor relatively softly, and rolled on to her back as the door slammed into the wall. “Ouch,” she said, more from surprise than pain. Then, because that wording didn’t seem quite adequate: “The hell?” There couldn’t be an actual hole in her bedroom floor, could there? She sat up to find out what she had stepped in, seeing nothing at first glance, but then, finally, the anomalous sensations from her left leg drew her attention.

You see, she had drawn her knees up to form a triangle between her legs and her hips, but her left knee was significantly lower than her right. Since her left leg wasn’t stretched out further than her right, this was enough for her to realize that something was… well, really strange. She grabbed her leg, pulled it back, examined it for a few seconds and then screamed, as loud as she could, and if the house hadn’t been practically soundproof things might have gone very different. Fortunately, the neighbors didn’t hear a thing.

Imagine the scene through Susan’s eyes. She would normally be barefoot at home – or, well, whenever she could get away with it – so when she first saw her leg, the lack of a visible sock didn’t concern her, but she nevertheless spent a few seconds staring at it in incomprehension, following the curves in a vain attempt to make some sense of what she was seeing. Upper leg – it was summer, and her knee-shorts had ridden up a bit in the fall – knee, lower leg, and then… nothing. Her leg just ended, in a stump, so she spent the time searching for a foot that just… wasn’t there.

Disbelievingly, Susan ran her hand across her leg. She could feel the touch on her leg, until… whimpering, she ran a finger around the end of it, and touched the end of her stump. It felt like she was tickling the inside of her foot; somewhat like one of those itches you occasionally get, that seem to be inside your skin and therefore unscratchable. Still in shock, she pulled at the leg so she could see the end of her stump.

She saw raw flesh the color of an uncooked steak, layers of skin – cut rather haphazardly, looking torn – and muscles, somehow stuck in place instead of sliding back and forth. There was no blood, allowing her to see the inside of her leg in its full glory. All in all, it looked rather like the anatomical model they had studied earlier that day. There was even a small, pale bone sticking out slightly on the left side.

“Ohgodohgodohgodohgod,” she hyperventilated. “My foot! What… where…?” While she may have been a little unhinged at this point, Susan remembered that she walked upstairs, and so her foot should certainly be close by. She spun around crazily, trying to avoid putting weight on either leg while looking for it. Naturally, she overbalanced and fell onto her back, her feet – or rather, her legs – in the air. Instead of hitting the hard floor, her head hit something warm and slightly yielding. Twisting around – still trying to keep her legs off the floor – she found that she had planted her head right on top of her detached foot, which of course looked like an exact twin to the slightly ragged end of her leg. This side had no visible bones, though there was a kind of socket where the bone sticking out of her leg might fit. The foot was still warm, but even while holding it with both hands she could feel nothing from it. Susan felt a sense of disbelief at the whole situation. She squeezed her eyes shut for several seconds, took a deep breath, then passed her right hand through where her mind said her foot had to be. Nothing.

She dug her nails into the foot she was holding. It reacted normally, as far as she could tell, but it was like touching someone else’s foot. There was no sensation. She quickly stopped, afraid of hurting herself, momentarily oblivious to the fact that it was her detached foot she was hurting. “Okay,” she said to herself. “Okay, that’s… well, this is odd.” If there hadn’t been such a strong sense of unreality hanging over the scene, she might well have started crying, or started screaming and never stopped. But there was no pain, no blood, and most of all this could not possibly have happened. As such, it had to be some kind of dream, which meant… right, nothing to worry about. Just had to put it back on.

So she took the foot, lined it up with her stump, and pulled hard. There was an audible ‘pop’, as the leg bone entered the hollow in her foot, and then she could suddenly feel it again. She winced; those fingernail marks kind of hurt. Susan wiggled her toes, then ran her hands over the joint in her ankle. There was no indication the foot was ever anywhere but right here, and honestly she might prefer to pretend it wasn’t, but she wasn’t brought up to deny reality. Even in dreams. “Well,” she thought. “At least I can go to the bathroom and bandage my foot now, right?” I’m pretty sure she still meant her right foot, though I wouldn’t blame her if she was referring to both. At any rate, she subsequently rose to her feet, seeming uncertain which leg to put her weight on, and, compromising by leaning against the wall, then walked slowly to the bathroom.

---

Half an hour later she was sitting mostly submerged in the bath. It was more than a little too short for her, so her legs – the right leg sporting a fairly excessive bandage around her foot – were dangling over the edge, while her torso was entirely submerged, only her nose sticking out of the water. Susan’s right foot was still feeling uncomfortable, however, so she occasionally reached up to rub it. Minutes passed, she’d predictably shift position every half-minute or so, and every so often she’d reach up. The bandage was getting quite soaked. Finally Susan sat up slightly in the water, before reaching out to pull her right foot towards her – pulling it back at almost a hundred and fifty degree angle. No doubt more than you can manage, but not too hard for a teen who takes flexibility seriously. Susan said, almost whispering, “I can’t believe I’m going to do this.” Keeping firm hold of her the leg with her left hand, she put her right hand on the foot itself. Then she squeezed her eyes shut, and…

She twisted her foot anticlockwise, using a great deal of force. There was a look of pain on her face at first – or at least anticipated pain – but then there was a ‘crack’ sound from the foot and her face smoothed out. Her foot was now twisted at a ninety degree angle, looking like it was broken. She reached up again, now grabbing it with both hands, and twisted it back and forth – looking for all the world like she was trying to pull out a particularly difficult wine cork. Perhaps that wasn’t not too far from the truth. There was a ‘pop’ and the skin around her ankle stretched as the foot itself jumped a quarter of an inch upwards. She stopped pulling for a second, and her eyes opened slightly, but she firmly closed them again the moment she saw her foot – hanging off to the side, only connected to her leg by a hollow flap of skin. “Um. Umm. Well, it doesn’t hurt anymore…”

And so she reached up one last time, grabbed her foot thoroughly with both hands, and put her weight against it. She pulled, as hard as she could, and eventually the skin broke and her foot went flying off to the other end of the bathroom. There was a clatter, as it landed right in the middle of the make-up gear. “…That’ll do,” she muttered. The bizarre task completed, she laid back down in the bath, this time without a painful foot disturbing her rest. If her parents had come home right at that moment they would have found a very disturbing scene indeed, should they have entered the bathroom, but fortunately Susan knew they wouldn’t be back that night at all.

She got out of the tub ten minutes later. That left her with somewhat of a dilemma, though. She had already discovered, if accidentally, that there was no particular problem walking on the stumps – well, not a problem for the stumps, which seemed to rejoin by magic no matter what. The problem was: should she put her right foot back on – and deal with the pain – or leave it off, and deal with having one leg shorter than the other? Or should she take a third solution?

“I guess it’s safe to break off the other one too, right? I mean, it was fine earlier.” It seemed Susan had started talking to herself, trying to convince herself this was normal and okay. She sat down on the floor, reached for her left foot, and twisted it off in roughly the same manner as the right. Then she stood back up – holding on to the table at first, her balance wavering a little as she tried to quickly learn how to walk on stumps instead of feet, but doing a good job overall. Then she walked – carefully, holding on to anything handy – back to her room, leaving her feet behind on the bathroom counter. It should be noted that Susan was not the kind of girl who’d normally walk bare-assed through the house, but these were hardly normal conditions. Perhaps she forgot, or maybe she didn’t feel up to the maneuverings required to get to the clothing she discarded earlier. Either way, she was alone in the house, and would be until the next evening.

After getting to her room, she scanned the floor carefully for further LEGO pieces, then finally and with an expression of sheer joy jumped on top of the bed. She stayed there for a moment, spread-eagled on her back, and I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that her hand stole down between her legs, but then she shook her head and sat back up. Susan subsequently tottered around the room for a few minutes, gradually gaining confidence with walking like this and collecting homework materials at her desk. Then she sat down, giggling as her shortened legs failed to reach the floor, and spent the next three hours doing homework in what I’m told is an unusually concentrated fashion for a fourteen year old girl.

By the time she finished, yawning, it was already nine o’ clock. Still an hour before she needed to go to sleep, Susan thought, but too late to go visit Cassie. She had occasionally inspected her stumps, and now found the whole thing extremely cool, like some kind of superpower. A very handy superpower, if it let her escape pain like that. Susan really wanted to tell Cassie, but she was realistic enough to realize that Cassie would almost certainly not believe her unless she could see for herself, which wouldn’t be an option until tomorrow evening. Assuming, of course, that they didn’t get such a giant pile of homework again.

There weren’t any TV shows she had any particular desire to see, and she figured if anything interesting had happened with any of their idols Cassie would tell her tomorrow anyway. So that left… experimentation. Well, that and making sure her feet still worked. Susan guiltily realized she had left them off for three full hours, and while that probably didn’t matter – she had realized it wasn’t a dream, but still figured there was no particular danger given the lack of pain – she probably ought to check.

Before going back to the bathroom, though, she walked downstairs just to look around. She was still nude – the forbidden condition adding a certain extra oomph to the general weirdness of the situation, and making her tingle pleasantly – and that, plus being a few inches shorter, made her home look and feel very different from what it usually was. Idly, she considered that the way walking felt right now might be pretty similar to what it’d be like to have hooves. Then she went back into the bathroom, and turned on the water for another bath. She had a wicked, wonderful idea. While the tub was filling up, she grabbed her feet. They still worked just fine, and rejoined without a twinge of pain or even the slightest seam. Whatever was going on, it didn’t follow any of the usual rules of biology. The LEGO mark on her right foot had, in fact, completely healed while it had been sitting here.

Shortly thereafter, she was sitting in the bath, pulling her left leg towards her. This time she kept her eyes open, wanting to see exactly what happened. Susan’s normal maximum flexibility is about a hundred and fifty degrees, which is enough to put her leg above her head, but this time she didn’t stop there. She pulled harder, forcing the leg towards her chest; it pulled heavily on the skin between her leg and buttocks, and she winced as her butt was slightly deformed by the tension, but the real pain was reserved for the muscles attaching the leg to her hip. She gulped; if she was wrong about this, she was in for some real pain tomorrow, not to mention a scolding from her instructor.

But Susan has already determined to do this, and she was not going to stop halfway. So she kept pulling, but she wasn’t strong enough to force her leg any further. Annoyed, she shifted around, sitting upright in the tub and leaning her leg against the wall; her right leg was folded under her, as she really didn’t want to try two at once. This way she could put her full weight in it, and even use her right leg to push against the bathtub. She leaned against her leg, testing its ability to support her weight, and finally – slowly, hoping to stop before she did real damage if this didn’t work – she pushed her body towards it. 160 degrees. A dull ache was spreading in her nether parts, emanating from her hips. 165 degrees. She reached out and tickled her knee with her tongue, confirming that she still had full feeling in the leg. 170 degrees. Her muscles were screaming, and it felt like she might break in half. Then, suddenly, there was a sound like cloth tearing, and the leg jerked several degrees back, actually hitting her in the nose. At the same time the pain in her bottom went away; her leg now felt completely, blessedly numb.

She carefully felt around with a hand, and finds what she halfway expected: There was a gap in the flesh of her leg, just where it joined her buttocks, where the skin and muscles apparently gave way. She could feel bone through the gap, making her slightly queasy, but she was expecting something like that. The leg was still mostly attached, though. “Ugh… what a pain. Now what do I do?” Susan tried to stand up in the tub, which she found to be more than a little bit harder with that kind of dead weight joined to her hips. Eventually she compromised, using her hands to haul herself up halfway and her right leg to push herself the rest of the way.

If you looked at her, you’d immediately be able to tell that there was something very wrong with her leg – it was twisted maybe twenty degrees, the kneecap in no way pointing forwards anymore. That gave her an idea, so she sat down on the edge of the bathtub and started using her own lower leg as a lever to twist the leg around. Things worked out reasonably well, but twisting like that meant a lot of extra skin gets pulled into the join. Susan felt no noticeable pain as her buttocks distort slightly, and if she had a mirror she might even have appreciated that her stomach was being flattened, but she definitely noticed when her pussy was forced open as her left labia was dragged out of position!

She immediately stopped, blinking, and felt around for what was happening. She left it like that for a minute – her breathing quickened, and the feeling-around quickly became a form of masturbation, as her left hand reached up to cup her breasts. She pushed a finger into her distorted, very open vagina, pushing it back and forth a few times before seeming to realize something. Biting her lip, eyes half-closed, Susan returned her attention to her leg, and resumed twisting it around – this time clearly intending something more than just detaching it. She rubbed her labia as it was pulled further and further away from its partner, gasping as it was pulled far enough to permanently hold her vagina open, but didn’t stop twisting. A few twists later the skin of her leg – the muscles, bones and tendons having long since given up the ghost – started tearing, starting at the lower-left edge of the first tear, where it was attached to her buttocks. Susan paid careful attention, guiding the tear with her fingers to produce a relatively even edge, albeit one that was very high up.

She probably didn’t realize, but it was going through skin that used to be at the upper edge of her hips, and after going around the circumference of her left hip she found it was going to pass straight through the center of her vagina, separating the labia from the rest of her body. Susan stopped, then shrugged, and let it. She figured she could get along with just her vagina for today, and she would be more careful next time. She fingered it one last time as she finished the tear, deciding there was definitely a sexy tinge to the feelings when they abruptly cut off while she was desperately rubbing it.

After the leg was fully separated the skin snapped back, revealing white bone as most of her left hip bone was exposed to air, the muscles attaching to it having joined her leg in exile. That was definitely not part of the plan, but she was too worked up to care. She tapped it, discovering that bones have no nerves when it didn’t feel like anything in particular, then gave her now halved pussy some more attention. The sensations were utterly alien, and she got close to orgasm in just a few seconds before forcing herself to stop. Then she eyed her right leg. Susan wasted no time this time, putting the leg on top of the bathtub before deliberately falling forwards into a position that would, if things had been normal, have ensured a nasty muscle tear if not an outright break.

As it happened, that’s roughly what happened: when she fell forward there was a loud ‘crack’, and while Susan’s torso proceeded into the water, her leg stayed behind at an impossible two hundred thirty-degree angle. She pulled herself out of the water, laughing, then grabbed her remaining leg and started spiritedly twisting it around, pulling out muscles and parts of her pussy in much the same way as the other one. Now that she was paying attention to that, there was… well, not pain, but the occasional purely mechanical ‘snap’ kind of feel as some part of her detached from her hip bones.

While she was doing this, she was rubbing her remaining labia frantically – after all, in another minute she wouldn’t have it anymore, so she had better get some use from it now. Without its partner keeping it roughly in place, her vulva distorted dramatically, not just the labia but also her clitoris and the opening to her vagina being dragged away from their normal position, stretched beyond any reasonable bounds. The skin was as tight as a drum, but it didn’t hurt, so the bizarre condition just made her even more worked up. Then it happened: her skin started tearing, right in the middle of her clitoral glans.

She came explosively, her hands convulsively gripping whatever they were touching and pulling with full force. Her leg, torn away, went flying towards the wall. It took most of her pussy with it, leaving only the actual vagina itself and part of her clitoris. Her other hand pulled on her vagina and, the vaginal muscles already damaged, it gave way – only a little bit, but there’s a sickening loosening sensation in her stomach, and her vagina popped out half an inch or so. The remaining skin snapped back, as it did for her other leg. Susan convulsed, her whole body shaking, and fell into the water – her hip bones making loud bangs as they collided with the metal bathtub walls. If I was in the room, which of course I wasn’t, I would have giggled with glee – she was handling my gift exactly as I’d hoped she would, maybe even a little faster.

Five minutes later, Susan was floating peacefully on top of the water, taking advantage of her shortened stature to use the bathtub in a way she hadn’t been able to for several years. “Wow. That was… that was something.” It appeared she had made her peace with the situation. “I’ve got to try that again.” Well, something like peace.

---

She stayed there for another half-hour, eyes closed, sleeping the sleep of the… carnally satisfied. Imagine the scene, if you will: From the hips up this was a normal fourteen-year-old, but her lower stomach – except for a tiny strip reaching down in the middle – was bereft of skin, white bone showing as the entirety of her hip bones was exposed, and most of her vulva torn away. Anyone would have thought it was a scene from a horror movie, or perhaps a war documentary. The soft smile on her face, however, along with the lack of blood, might suggest to someone particularly inquisitive that something truly abnormal was occurring.

She eventually woke up, of course, in this case when her unbalanced weight caused her to tip over to float face-down. Spluttering, it took her a full five seconds of trying to put her legs under her before she recalled the situation, and instead reached up with her arms. Getting out of the bathtub was a little harder than usual, but not too hard; without legs, pulling herself out with her arms was a lot easier than expected. She landed hard, on her hips, and a pulse of… something… jolted through her. “Um…” Feeling around with her hands, she finally noticed the prolapsed state of her vagina. Under normal circumstances this would have alarmed her, but after everything she had gone through there just wasn’t much room for alarm left – she was sure she could fit it back in place.

A mirror would be ideal for this operation, but the closest mirror was on top of the bench. In her current condition she was only two and half feet tall, putting it well out of reach unless she wanted to go climbing. So she pushed at it, the lack of any real pleasure not coming as much of a surprise to her after she had ripped off most of the pleasurable parts, though she certainly felt when she pushed her finger inside to feel around. Her vagina refused to slot back in place, though, and she started feeling a little anxious before recalling what she’d done with her feet. That is, it probably wouldn’t work unless she completely detached it first. “…Oh, geez. Do I really have to do this?” Susan made a face, but decided that she really didn’t have a choice. She needed to get herself back in order for school, at least – putting her legs back might not fix this, and someone would certainly notice in gymnastics glass. Not here, though. Her bedroom had a mirrored ceiling, a feature her parents were apologetic about, but which she had repeatedly taken advantage of. So she hand-walked back to her room, wishing she’d left the doors open when she had to balance on one hand to get them open, and climbed into bed. This was the point at which, if their school had taught female anatomy a little earlier, Susan could have saved herself a lot of trouble. She felt around and inside her vagina for a bit, quickly coming to the conclusion that it was basically a kind of fleshy tube. She tried pushing it back in again, but with no more luck than before – it stayed in while she relaxed, but if she squeezed her muscles even slightly it popped right back out. “No choice, then. It’s already sticking out a little, so…”

Susan ran her hands across her hip bones, reminding herself that if sanity ever applied to any of this, it had long since lost its claim on reality. Then she stuck the index finger of her left hand into her vagina as far as it would go, making a kind of hook, and pulled – hard. It popped out an inch. Dramatic, in any normal situation, but not nearly enough for what she had in mind. She tried gripping and pulling, but it was too slick. “Oh, geez.”

There was a hairbrush on the bedside table, the kind with extendable bristles, and she decided to try something she’d considered previously, but never had the nerve to actually do. She took the hairbrush, made sure the bristles were as far in as they would go, and carefully positioned it in front of the ruined flesh between her legs. Then she pushed, carefully at first, but with increasing force as it became clear that there was no pain here either. The hairbrush got stuck only a quarter of an inch in, though; she couldn’t muster sufficient force to push it further, and her vagina already felt completely full – too full; it was almost painfully tight, though of course there was still no pain – but she was pretty sure that wasn’t enough.

“Oh, geez.” Susan was by this point pretty worked up again, from a potent mixture of fear and arousal. Missing most of her sex, there was no way to get properly aroused, but with the situation as it was there was certainly no way she could stay completely calm. Perhaps that’s why she did what she did – she lifted herself up, carefully aimed the handle of the brush towards the wooden edge of her bed, and then let herself fall on it with full force.

There was a crack and a tearing feel, as it was forced past the entrance to her vagina. Then she felt a powerful pressure in her stomach, something inside her gave way, and she fell the rest of the way – the handle of the hairbrush lying flush on the wood, pushed all the way inside her hipbones. Splut. She peed uncontrollably, but fortunately she’d gone to the toilet earlier and only a few drops escaped. There was a visible bulge in her stomach.

It took her a minute to collect herself, but she eventually decided that this wasn’t very different from the plan. Okay, so it was a little further in than intended – she fingered it, and found it pretty much jammed in position – but she could fix that. At least, since she pressed it – and the button on its handle – pretty hard against the bed frame, the bristles seemed to have deployed, so if she could pull it out it ought to take her vagina with it.

That same vagina was kind of… a little bit… she felt around, and although it had been pushed well inside her and didn’t seem to be going anywhere right now, the outer part of it had been unable to handle the full width of the hairbrush and had pretty much torn in half. She gulped, but figured that would fix itself too. The brush clearly wasn’t going to move just by pulling with her hands, though, and she felt utterly bloated – she wanted it out of there, soon! It took a bit of thought, but eventually she settled for threading a piece of string through the handle of the brush and tying the other end around the door handle, keeping it short enough that if it didn’t pull the brush out she would just end up dangling upside-down over the floor. The next step took a bit of courage, but of course she pushed herself over the edge of her bed, falling in an arc towards the door.

She hit the door with a bang, giving her vagina a strong jolt upwards, and it popped back out a few inches. Her ruined vaginal muscles instinctively attempted to tighten, giving her a jolt of pleasure, though they failed to actually do very much. The weight of her body was now entirely supported by the hairbrush embedded in her abdomen, pulling the relevant organs upwards to rest against her hip bones and putting extra weight on her intestines. She’d have a hard time explaining the sensation, but if asked, she might describe it as feeling like she needed to take the biggest dump of her life, while her vagina was itching under the assault, strained to the breaking point.

She hung there for a few seconds, panting, and alternately relaxing and squeezing her vaginal muscles. The massive intruder didn’t yield, making her feel more and more turned on, and once again reducing her inhibitions. Her fingers moved wildly across her sex, but there was nothing there to touch – only the tattered ends of her vagina, which wouldn’t give her any pleasure from mere stroking even if it was in working condition. Every squeeze of her muscles strengthened the maddening itch, but it was inside her; access was blocked by the hair brush. So she dug her fingers in between the vagina and her hip bones, trying to go around by squeezing her fingers inside. It was a tight fit – too tight to get anywhere, but she persevered.

Simultaneously, she pulled one of her breasts down to her mouth with one hand, then started sucking on it. They were pretty small, and normally she wouldn’t have a prayer of being able to do this, but in this situation… the skin on her rib cage had loosened slightly; it was no longer attached all the way to her hips in any case, and the lack of pain was making her use far more force than she’d ever have normally used. Her breasts weren’t threatening to tear loose, but with enough force the skin partially detached from the underlying muscles, shifting downwards on her upside-down form like a slightly loose sweater. Susan didn’t notice this, and might not have cared if she did; she was just happy to be successfully sucking her own tit.

Merely sucking her own breasts was not quite satisfying, and the central point – the maddening itch in her vagina – only got worse, approaching orgasm without ever quite getting there. Her fingers weren’t doing anything for her, as she failed to get far enough inside to make a difference; even dropping one to tweak her left breast while she was sucking on the right failed to be enough, even though she started using her teeth to tweak the nipple on her right breast as well.

A few minutes of this would be too much for any young lady. Eventually she gave up, deciding to go continue with her first plan and hoping that would help. So she deliberately squeezed, as if she was trying to take a dump. Then again, harder, using all her abdominal muscles – not just the vaginal ones. She was still idly chewing on her right breast, but used her hands to reach behind her, and momentarily pulled on the bed as hard as she could. Something shifted.

She dropped a quarter of an inch, then stopped, accompanied by a burst of… something, from her vagina. Pleasure, certainly, but also momentary relief from the pressure, a sort of sliding sensation, and a rapid succession of weird-feeling internal tugs in almost random spots. From this angle she couldn’t see what was going on, but it seemed to be working, so she pulled again, squeezed her hardest, relaxed, then did it all over again. Something was definitely happening – it felt damned weird, but with every cycle she dropped another fraction of an inch, and there was a loosening sensation inside her that was deeply welcome after having felt the pressure of that hair brush for just a few minutes. It also felt really good, the hairbrush alternately tugging at her vagina, tearing it a little looser, then relaxing. She used her right hand to feel herself out, then went back to trying to get it inside, alternative pulling and pushing at her right hipbone in hopes of loosening it a little.

She kept at this for several minutes. The sensations drove her wild, making her use more and more force, until eventually – while she was tugging her hipbone sharply outwards – it shifted half an inch, opening her up widely. She felt the skin between her vagina and asshole pull alarmingly tight, then something gave, and she heard a slurping sound from what she can only assume was her vagina pulling entirely out of her body as she fell to the floor, still upside down. As it was pulled out at an angle, it rubbed between her hip bones and the brush, and she gave a little scream from the pleasurable sensations. She reached up blindly, with both hands, and felt for the embedded brush. There it was. The feel… well, ‘fleshy tube’ seemed about right. So she grabbed it and started pulling, an action that sent her over the edge and into her second orgasm of the day, turning a careful pull into the strongest one she could currently manage.

There was a massive slurping noise and tugging feel as it came away in her hands, and she fell to the floor, exhausted and feeling literally empty, slowly falling onto her side, the sensations having suddenly cut off. After the last few minutes, that emptiness and silence was a deeply welcome sensation. It took her a few minutes to recover, and she couldn’t see what had happened to her lower parts from this angle, but that… that felt like a lot more weight than she was expecting. Susan shifted around, angling to get a look at what was hanging from the door, then involuntarily yelped.

There was more than just the tube-like thing she expected; a lot more. It was there, looking a little tattered, but it opened up to a kind of bubble at the lower end – which was stretched out a little, the hairbrush having pushed all the way through it and denting the far end – and it actually branched, two smaller tentacle-ish things going off to the side. If that was all there was, though, she might still not have minded too much. It wasn’t. The very top of her vagina – the entrance – was still attached to some scraps of skin, including what looked like both her peehole and her asshole. There were two more, somewhat smaller, balloons attached to her peehole via a single larger one – part of her, analyzing everything, realized that was probably where the pee was stored – but there was also…

She forced herself to look at it. There was a thick string attached to her asshole, leading – of course – back to her body, and disappearing in between her hip bones. She pulled on it with a shaking hand – it was slippery and slightly slimy, but she could grasp it, and the tug made more come out of her body. Susan made a face. Not what she expected, not at all. She considered just stuffing it back in, but she was pretty sure the exact location mattered, and right now she couldn’t even see what she was doing. Never mind that she was not really sure what the correct location would be, she couldn’t get the… bits… there if she did. Susan looked down at herself, considering, and tugged slightly at her right hipbone; it was loose, like a loose tooth. “Ha…” she weakly laughed. “Well, at least my stomach is flat now? Hollow, even.” She rubbed her stomach lightly, in circles, feeling the insides shift. It was flat, true, but as her skin barely covered the top of her hips it was hard to claim she has a delicious flat stomach.

“…I can’t call Cassie for help. How could I possibly explain this? I’ll just need to deal with it myself. I’m pretty sure I remember seeing an anatomy book downstairs somewhere…” She hand-walked to the door, trailing half a meter of intestine, and pulled her lower parts down. Her vagina was… she winced; the bristles on her hair brush had penetrated entirely in some places, tearing long rifts in the skin. The lower, bubble-like thing felt odd, not much like skin at all, but she figured that was because it was from further inside her body. The two protrusions coming out of either side felt different to the bubble, though no less strange.

“Well, at any rate…” Susan manipulated the brush, twisting it around, and eventually managed to press the button to retract the bristles before pulling it out. It looked downright nasty, covered in goo and shreds of flesh, but she was not in the mood to care about that right now. She considered how to get downstairs. She’d really prefer not having to carry this around – she didn’t have any legs, obviously, which meant having to carry it would slow her down dramatically. Not to mention, it might get caught in the stairs, or getting up would be hard, or… no. Stuffing it back in first was… no. She’d just need to do it all over again later. So she left the bits on the floor, and hiked herself back up on the bed. Then she started jogging her right hipbone back and forth, using both hands, treating it like a particularly recalcitrant loose tooth. It was already mostly detached, and only stood up to that treatment for about half a minute before coming loose entirely.

This was something new. Susan examined the gleaming white bone up close, paying careful attention to the orientation it had before she pulled it out. It was an interesting shape – the upper part looked like some kind of cup, while the lower had an obvious socket for her leg. A leg that she now recalled, shrugging, was still lying around in the bathroom somewhere. She discarded it on top of the bed, then felt around in the hollow it left behind. The skin of her torso looks like some kind of skirt, now, having collapsed slightly around the opening. It was still held open by the other hip bone, though. So she started jogging that… and it didn’t move, feeling much better attached than the other one. She persisted, though, eventually resorting to using the bed frame for leverage and leaning against it.

After a few minutes it came loose all at once, with a ‘snap’ sound. She put it next to the other one. This left her abdominal cavity completely open, letting her start the next stage of her plan. She experimentally lifted herself off the bed, arching her back to keep anything from falling out; with her reduced weight, it was getting pretty easy to lift herself up with her arms. Then she lifted herself to the edge of the bed and angled her torso over the edge. Intestines start spilling out, coiling on the floor beneath her. Her intestines were longer than she’d ever imagined, but that didn’t reflect badly on Susan’s attention in class; up until a few minutes ago, she didn’t realize they existed at all.

At one point it stopped, prompting her to reach in and tug with one hand; a new kind of lighter-colored, thinner intestine proceeded to decorate the top of the now fairly large heap. Then it stopped entirely, and tugging lightly didn’t restart it. Susan laid back on her bed, grabbed the ‘skirt’ that used to be the skin and muscles of her lower torso with both hands, and pulled up until its upper edge was even with her ribs. The lower edge refused to move, but she could feel that that was because it was still attached to her spine and what remained of her butt, so she didn’t force it. The tube of her upper intestine appeared to be attached to several ‘bubbles’ – organs, she supposed – and she’d really prefer not to make things harder for herself yet again. Ideally she’d like to rip it out just below the lowest organ, but she’d be lucky not to rip anything else out…

Instead, she took the hobby scissors from her table, and started cutting. It took a few minutes – the thing was awfully strong, and hard to keep a grip on – but eventually she succeeded, leaving just four inches of intestine inside herself. She stuck a hand into the opening, to feel around; it didn’t really feel like anything, but the inside was slimy, so she quickly stopped. Then she let herself off the bed, feeling rather lightweight.

I’ll spare you her adventures in going downstairs. Suffice to say that her quest succeeded, and she returned victoriously with an anatomy textbook in one hand – having found that she had little trouble dragging herself along with one arm, like this – and a sharp-looking knife in her mouth, the kind you might use to gut fish. Yes, she got that for the reason you’re imagining. After pulling all her assorted components onto the bed, she started by slotting her hip bones into place, then used the knife to slice herself open – giving herself full access to her abdomen despite the bones nominally being in the way. Consulting the textbook, she proceeded to replace the puzzle pieces one by one, starting with the vaginal section – when she slotted the orifices in place with the full expectation that they’d stay there, they miraculously regrew their attachments and did just that.

She then pushed her vagina and womb in place, the damage healing as her fingers passed over it. Her bladder and kidneys – not that she had any idea what they were – were next, and finally she carefully coiled her intestines back in. They’d occasionally jump as she decided they should be in place, but that effect – which might otherwise have told her something important – was small enough at any given time that she never really noticed it was happening. The loose end connected easily to the bit she’d left dangling, and then it was all back in place. She fingered her vagina carefully – having absolutely no desire to masturbate again, but wanting to make sure everything was in order – then sealed her abdomen back up, rubbing out the cut lines as if she was rubbing out a misplaced line on a drawing. This still left her without legs, but at this point she was far too tired to think about it. As a matter of fact she just turned around, hit the light switch, dug into her bedding and went to sleep straight away.

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The next morning showed a scene of controlled panic after she tried to roll out of bed onto her feet, but all told it only added an extra minute or so to her morning routine to put everything back in position, and then she was too busy preparing for school to think very much about it – her homework was still all over the table.