Chapter 56: The Hollow Reconstruction
The accident was stupid. That was the part that pissed Anya off the most. It wasn’t some wild, drunken escapade or a daring sexual experiment gone wrong. It was a wet floor and a moment of distraction.
She’d been at the university gym, messing around on the stripper pole they’d installed in the dance studio. She was good at it, loved the way it made her ass and thighs burn. Her water bottle had rolled away, and she’d stepped off her mat, one foot landing squarely in a puddle of spilled protein shake. Her legs shot out from under her. She came down hard, straddling the polished chrome base of the pole, not the thick column itself, but the reinforced flange that anchored it to the floor—a blunt, unforgiving protrusion about the size of a soda can.
There was no tearing sensation, no dramatic rip. Just a deep, sickening pop-pop from inside her core, a feeling like two water balloons bursting under pressure. The pain was immediate, a white-hot sheet that stole her breath and blurred her vision. She slid off, curling onto the cool floor, gasping. When she finally managed to stand, legs shaking, there was no blood, just a profound, unsettling emptiness and a deep, throbbing ache that radiated through her entire pelvis.
The ER docs were clinical, vaguely horrified. Internal trauma. Ruptured ovaries. Cervical laceration. They stabilized her, recommended a full hysterectomy and reconstructive surgery. Anya listened, nodded, and discharged herself against medical advice the second she could walk without vomiting.
A week later, the deep ache had subsided to a dull reminder. She stood in front of her full-length mirror at home, a hand mirror angled between her legs. The external landscape was familiar: the incredible ass, the plump folds, and her prized, worm-like clit, pink and sensitive as ever. Nothing looked different. But inside, she knew, was a war zone.
She poked a finger in, then two, then her whole hand up to the wrist. It went in with obscene ease, meeting no meaningful resistance until her knuckles brushed against something ragged and wrong deep inside. A cold, clinical curiosity settled over her. She’d never loved that hole anyway. It was just… there. A convenient warm space sometimes, but never the main event. Her pleasure lived in her clit and her ass.
She texted Tina. Got in a fight with a pole. The pole won. Think I need a creative consultation.
Tina’s clinic felt different now to Anya. It wasn’t just a sterile office; it was the place where miracles and monsters were made, by someone who understood the assignment. The holograms on the wall seemed to pulse with possibility.
“So,” Anya said, hopping up onto the examination table, the paper crinkling under her. “Turns out my insides are more fragile than my ego.”
Tina scrolled through the holographic scans, her bimbo persona completely absent, replaced by a sharp, fascinated focus. “Okay. Yeah. The ovaries are toast. Cervix is… more of a suggestion than a structure. Uterine wall is thinned but intact.” She whistled softly. “You really did a number. How’s the pain?”
“Manageable. Mostly I’m just annoyed.” Anya shrugged. “So, doc. What’s the play? They wanted to scoop everything out and sew me up like a teddy bear.”
“They’re not wrong, from a conventional standpoint,” Tina said, zooming in on a shimmering neural map. “But we’re not conventional. First thing’s first. Your ovaries are gone, which means your hormone production is in the toilet. We need to install a regulator. It’s a subdermal implant, right here.” She tapped a spot on her own hip. “It’ll manage your baseline. But I can calibrate it. How horny do you want to be, Anya? Like, on a scale from ‘normal person’ to ‘constantly climbing the walls’?”
Anya didn’t even blink. “Very.” The word was simple, definitive. “I already masturbate five times a day. I don’t want that to change. I want it to be… easier. More.”
A genuine smile spread across Tina’s face, the kind she reserved for her most interesting projects. “Okay. Good. That gives us a solid baseline for the endocrine cocktail.” She swiped the hormone chart away, pulling up a detailed, glowing schematic of Anya’s pelvic floor. The damaged areas pulsed a soft, warning red. “Now, the fun part. You’ve got a cavernous space with shredded nerves that aren’t doing you any favors. And you love anal.”
“It’s my favorite thing,” Anya confirmed, leaning forward. The paper crinkled loudly.
“So, we scrap them. All the remaining vaginal nerves—they’re mostly for deep, vague pressure now anyway. We carefully harvest them.” Tina’s fingers danced in the air, plucking glowing strands from the holographic vagina and weaving them around the schematic rectum, making it glow brighter. “We re-implant the whole bundle here, in the walls of your ass. It’ll take a few weeks to integrate, but when it does? Every thrust will feel like it’s lighting up your entire nervous system.”
Anya’s breath caught. Her green eyes were wide, fixed on the shimmering transference. “Jesus. That’s… that’s insane.”
“But wait, there’s more,” Tina said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “We don’t just seal up the vacancy. We repurpose it. With the nerves gone, it’s just a sterile pocket. We can line it with a non-absorbent polymer, install a few internal sphincter muscles for control.” She added two glowing rings to the schematic vagina. “Think of it as a storage space. A truly secret pocket. And with those sphincters…” She manipulated the image, showing the elongated, worm-like clitoris being gently drawn up into the newly fashioned canal. “You can tuck your whole clit inside. Hold it snug. The gentle, constant pressure from the sphincters would basically be a low-grade, all-day massage. You could be sitting in class, clamping down rhythmically, and no one would know.”
The idea unfolded in Anya’s mind with perfect, devastating clarity. Her useless, injured hole transformed. A warm, hidden sheath for her most sensitive part. Her ass, already her primary source of pleasure, becoming a super-conductor of sensation. It wasn’t a repair; it was an upgrade. A liberation.
A slow, delighted grin spread across her face, erasing the last of the annoyance from the accident. “My vagina was already a lost cause. Now it can be useful.” She looked from the hologram to Tina, her voice full of reckless certainty. “Do it. Turn me into your masterpiece.”