Chapter 19: Reclaimed Instrument
The faint, electric hum of the sterilizer unit cooling down in the bathroom was the only sound besides their breathing. Jasmine oil mingled with the lingering sharp scent of heated plastic and disinfectant. Mara stood beside the bed, naked except for the intricate leather harness buckled snugly around her hips and thighs. The straps felt foreign, firm against her skin, yet undeniably grounding. Her gaze was fixed on the object cradled in her palms: her own preserved cock.
It was slightly warm still, radiating the faint heat of the sterilization cycle, the silicone skin smooth and yielding under her trembling fingertips. The weight was familiar, achingly so, yet utterly alien now that it wasn't attached. She traced the prominent veins molded into the shaft, the flared glans, a perfect replica suspended in amber-tinted silicone.
"I... I forgot how heavy it felt. Inside," she murmured, her voice thick.
Ilda lay propped against the pillows, her voluptuous form bathed in the soft glow of a single bedside lamp. Her long, wavy blonde hair fanned out around her shoulders. The sight of Mara, harnessed, holding the preserved length, sent a visible tremor through Ilda's own permanently flaccid cock, a soft twitch against her inner thigh. Her blue eyes, wide and dark with both arousal and profound tenderness, never left Mara’s face.
"It looks..." Ilda breathed, her voice catching slightly. "Powerful. On you." She shifted, spreading her legs wider, the invitation clear. Her gaze dropped briefly to the prosthesis. "Is it... strange? Holding it?"
Mara swallowed hard. "Yes. And no. It’s warm. Like... like it’s alive, just resting." She lifted her eyes to Ilda’s, finding an anchor in that steady gaze. "I want to try. With you. Please."
A soft sigh escaped Ilda, part relief, part pure desire. "Come here." She patted the silk sheets beside her, the specialized strap-on resting nearby like a silent promise. "Let me help you attach it."
Mara moved to the bed, the leather harness creaking softly. She knelt between Ilda’s legs, the preserved cock held carefully. Ilda reached out, her fingers brushing Mara’s trembling ones as she guided the base into the harness's O-ring fixture. The click as it secured sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet room. Mara inhaled sharply, feeling the weight settle differently now, pulling at the harness straps, a distinct pressure against her mons where her own opening lay hidden. The familiar shape jutted out from her body, an echo and a phantom all at once.
Ilda’s hand slid down Mara’s thigh, her touch feather-light. "Okay?" she whispered.
Mara nodded, unable to speak for a moment. She looked down at the silicone length, rigid and purposeful where her own anatomy ended. "It’s… pointing at you," she managed, a flicker of the old nervousness surfacing, the ghost of premature urgency she thought she’d left behind with the surgery. "Just… go slow? I might… I don’t know what I might do."
"I know, love," Ilda murmured, her thumb stroking Mara’s hip bone. "We go slow. You set the pace. It’s yours to guide." She reached between her own legs, fingers slick with the lubricant she’d applied moments before. Her touch was practiced, opening herself, preparing for the intrusion. Her permanently softened cock lay inert, a soft curve against her thigh, testament to her own chosen state, yet her eyes burned with a bottom's need to be filled. "I’m ready for you, Mara. Show me."
Mara took another shaky breath, steeling herself. She placed her hand tentatively on the base of the prosthesis, feeling the solid silicone beneath her palm. She shifted forward, aligning the tip with Ilda’s slicked opening. The warmth radiating from Ilda was palpable, a stark contrast to the sterilized prosthesis. The head nudged against yielding flesh.
Ilda gasped, a soft, breathy sound. "Oh… Goddess… it’s warm." She looked up at Mara, eyes wide with wonder. "You made it warm."
Mara pushed forward, gently, her focus narrowing to the connection point, the slight resistance, and then the slow, slick glide as the silicone head breached Ilda’s entrance. Ilda’s breath hitched, her body arching slightly off the pillows. A low moan vibrated in her chest. "Yes… Mara… just like that. Slowly."
Mara watched, mesmerized, as inch after inch of the preserved length disappeared into Ilda’s body. She felt the harness straps bite softly into her skin with each inch gained, the tugging pressure against her mons a constant, strange counterpoint to the visual of penetration. It wasn't sensation in the prosthesis, obviously, but the act of wielding it, seeing Ilda open and accept this part of her past, sent jolts of complex energy through her – power, tenderness, vulnerability, a dizzying cocktail.
"All the way," Ilda breathed, her voice strained with pleasure. "Fill me, love. Let me feel it."
Mara pushed the last inch, seating the base of the prosthesis firmly against Ilda. She paused, her hand still gripping the base, her knuckles white. Ilda’s inner muscles pulsed around the silicone shaft, a rhythmic, welcoming pressure Mara could actually feel transmitted through the rigid form. Her own neglected balls, hanging full and heavy beneath her, throbbed in sympathetic response to Ilda’s pleasure, a deep, familiar ache beneath the novelty of this act.
"Fuck, Mara," Ilda moaned, her head thrown back, exposing the long line of her throat. "It feels… different. So solid. So… yours." She reached up, her hand finding Mara’s where it gripped the prosthesis base, covering it with her own. "Move. Please. Move inside me."
The plea, raw and needy from the woman who usually craved worship, ignited something primal in Mara. She pulled back slowly, the slick sound obscenely loud, watching the glistening shaft withdraw, then pushed forward again, mimicking the rhythm she remembered from before, guided by Ilda’s gasps and the clenching pressure she felt through the silicone. It was an odd dance – controlling the penetration without directly feeling it, focused entirely on Ilda’s reactions, the creak of the harness, the heat radiating from their joined bodies.
Ilda’s cries grew louder, less controlled. "Yes! Oh, gods, yes! Harder… don’t stop!" Her hands scrabbled at the sheets, then flew to Mara’s hips, fingers digging in, urging her on. "Use it, Mara! Fuck me with it!"
The command, so unlike Ilda’s usual gentleness, sent a surge of heat through Mara that had nothing to do with the prosthesis and everything to do with the raw power of giving Ilda exactly what she craved in this moment. Mara drove her hips forward with more force, the harness pulling sharply, the preserved cock sinking deep. She found a rhythm, spurred by Ilda’s escalating moans, the sweat beading on both their skins, the jasmine scent mingling with the musk of exertion and arousal. She saw Ilda’s flaccid cock jump, a weak spurt of clear fluid escaping the slit, untouched, a testament to the intensity rolling through her.
"Ilda…" Mara gasped, her own breath coming in ragged pants. The pressure in her balls was a throbbing counterpoint to Ilda’s ecstasy, a hungry echo. "You feel… incredible."
"Almost… oh, Mara, don’t stop!" Ilda’s body tightened, a tremor running through her. She arched violently, a choked scream tearing from her lips as climax ripped through her. Her inner muscles clamped down fiercely around the silicone shaft, a rhythmic, powerful pulsing Mara could feel vibrating up through the prosthesis into the harness, into her own bones. Ilda shuddered, gasping, her grip on Mara’s hips tightening like a vice before finally going slack.
Mara stopped moving, panting, leaning over Ilda, still buried inside her. She watched Ilda ride the aftershocks, her eyes closed, mouth slightly open, utterly spent. A profound sense of awe, exhaustion, and fierce tenderness washed over Mara. She’d done it. She’d wielded the echo of her past and given her lover this shattering release.
Ilda’s eyes fluttered open, hazy and soft. A slow, dazed smile spread across her face. She reached up, her fingers tracing Mara’s sweat-slicked cheek. "You… you beautiful miracle," she breathed, her voice wrecked. "I never thought…" She swallowed. "That was…"
"Different?" Mara finished for her, a shaky smile touching her own lips. She carefully began to withdraw, the action feeling strangely intimate now. The silicone slid free with a soft, wet sound. Ilda whimpered softly at the loss.
"Transcendent," Ilda corrected softly, watching as Mara unfastened the harness with trembling fingers. The prosthesis fell onto the silk sheets beside them, still slightly warm, gleaming in the lamplight. Mara shed the harness, letting it drop, and collapsed beside Ilda, pulling her close. Their skin met, damp and heated, Ilda’s soft curves molding against Mara’s leaner frame. Ilda instinctively nestled her head against Mara’s small breasts, her hand finding the familiar, comforting weight of Mara’s full scrotum, fingers gently tracing the sensitive skin.
Mara sighed, a deep sound of release and contentment that had nothing to do with orgasm and everything to do with connection achieved. She kissed the top of Ilda’s head, breathing in the scent of jasmine and exertion. Her own balls ached pleasantly, a grounding reminder of her body’s state, a familiar counterpoint to the extraordinary intimacy they’d just shared. The prosthetic cock lay discarded beside them, no longer a phantom limb, but a tool they’d wielded together, bridging the gap their natures had created. The fan hummed softly, the jasmine lingered, and the unspoken promise of future explorations hung warm and heavy in the air between them.