Vacancy

Getting up from the chair isn’t easy. The giant dildo has clawed into my body, and is anchored inside now. Sharp bolts of pain are his protests of being pulled out. My arms bound behind my back don’t help anything at all, either. It takes at least five minutes before I manage to get up from the chair. I stand up, bent, shivering and panting. The hurt in my pussy only decreases slightly now that the dildo is gone. And when it does, it creates space for another feeling, something I have never felt before: my slit feels vacant.

It doesn’t even slightly resemble my life before, when there wasn’t anything penetrating my pussy for 99.9% of the time. But you never even noticed that, you just lived your life, and all the genital attention was for the 0.1%

But right now, I am very focused on the feeling of being empty. The dildo has been with me for so long, and his imprint still lingers on the inside of my slit walls. Not actually being there anymore generates a feeling of absence. Even though my flesh is happy that the relentless pressure is gone now, the tender nerves of my pussy register it as a yearning, a grief about a loss, like a melancholy of the body.