My Vagina Gets a Tongue

From my humble beginnings in rural France, I had become unbelievably accomplished. "The Best Pussy in New York" is how I had become known but it wasn't just my cunt which made me so alluring. I was the full package - beautiful, intelligent, conversational, seductive, and every man's dream in the bedroom.

Across a decade I'd become the most desired and highly paid escort in the business. Sports stars, fund managers, politicians and actors all sought me out through the social networks of the elite. Whether I was companion for a weekend or a post-gig night in paradise, men desired my company and didn't shy from showing me off. I'd even fucked three Presidents, although only one of them was sitting at the time. Two of them returned for a follow-up booking.

My rates were astronomical, but money was no limit for my clients. Even when I'd started out as a novice in the business, my prices were high. But when I'd reached my peak appeal, the booking rates were dizzying, and the tips were even more crazy. I'd saved millions and I knew that I never needed to work again if I chose.

But I

wanted

to work. I didn't think of sex as a chore. It was a lifestyle. It's what defined me. Why do

any

of the ultra-wealthy and elite work?

Ego.

Ego and self-affirmation. I thought back to my early days as an escort. I was beautiful. So beautiful. Perfect skin, perfect body. Better-than-perfect pussy. Over ten years I'd maintained my looks, with only a little touch-up here and there. I had to cut back on the parties and work the gym a bit more, but I was still intact. And I more than made up for any ageing with the skills and sexual techniques that I'd learned along the way.

My move to New York after graduating university had proven to be the best decision of my life. In France I'd qualified in the Law as the valedictorian of my class. Good money and respect lay ahead of me. But it was nothing compared to the hallowed avenues of New York. The wealth of Wall Street. The access to power. The most famous people in the world. The men were like Gods and they chose me as their Goddess.

But the latest criticism cut deep. I'd had engagements with a certain famous politician on and off over ten years, so he knew me well. But when he told me that my pussy was getting loose and my tits were saggy, it shook me to the core.

So I found myself in the private waiting room of Dr Mike, New York's top plastic surgeon.

"I need a pussy service," I said bluntly.

"I see," said Dr Mike.

Mike conducted a discrete inspection. It was strange, I thought, how the consultation contrasted to a client engagement. They were both interested in my pussy, but in completely different ways. But were they

really

that different? Dr Mike wore fitted white medical trousers, and I'm sure I could detect a growing bulge as he probed about my cunt.

"Honestly Helena," he allayed my concerns. "Everything is fine down here. Actually it's better than fine. You have the vagina of a twenty-year old. It's one of the most beautiful I've ever seen." He swung a mirror around on an arm and I gazed at my perfectly formed pussy with a tiny teardrop opening at the base, leading to elegant lips, and the tiny button of a clitoris exposed at the top.

"There's nothing that needs doing here, but if you're insistent, this is what I can do." Doctor Mike turned on a dispassionate voice. "I can tighten this tissue here with a small fold. I can inject collagen into the vagina walls here." I saw him pointing in a general direction, but then he inserted a single gloved digit into my pussy, and it felt so comforting that I moaned. "That will pad out the vagina walls a little, and with blood flow - when you are aroused - that will enable more pressure to be applied - where my finger is. Can you squeeze?"

I clenched my cunt hard against his finger.

"You have very good pressure Helena. Amazing muscle control really."

"Kegels." I didn't confess to the Doctor that many of the wealthy and powerful actually have such small penises that my pussy needed to grip tightly.

"I see. You have very lucky clients." I refrained from showing him the additional techniques that I had mastered. Waves with my pussy. A pinch with my labia. A Singaporean kiss.

"You definitely don't need labiaplasty or any other external procedures. That's all in order. But -," his sentence tailed off like he was uncomfortable to continue.

"But what?"

"Helena, you are perfect as you are. But I understand you have a profession. A reputation to keep. So can I offer you a leftfield suggestion?"

I was intrigued.

"It's experimental, and I don't want to offend. So just say the word and I'll drop the topic. Don't try to compete with the next generation of young things coming through. Offer something absolutely incomparable."

"What?"

"A major surgery to please men beyond belief."

"What are you talking about? Is it a second pussy? To service two men? Because I'm telling you, I am the queen at double penetration and my ass is the best in the business too."

"No, no Helena. Like I said, it's leftfield. You know that I don't just specialise in vaginal work. I conduct other cosmetic procedures, not just for aesthetics. We have to grow new noses, ears, skin and graft onto patients. And transplants - fingers, toes."

"Yes, yes, so what's your point?"

"I can offer you the very first opportunity to have a pussy with a tongue."

"What?" I recoiled in surprise.

"Think about it. Think about the pleasure that you already provide when you give oral sex. I'm sure your clients lose their mind." It was true. He continued, becoming more animated as he explained his idea. "And think about their response when their penis is deep in your pussy and then a tongue caresses their member." His eyes glazed a little and his pants were hardly concealing his erection.

"You are

not

taking my tongue from my mouth and putting it down there!"

"No. no, not

your

tongue. It would be a donor's."

"Another person's tongue! Would they taste my pussy? Are you crazy?"

"No, no. Of course, it would come from a deceased donor. And it would become yours. It would be part of you. In the same way you can feel with your arm, your hand, your leg, your tongue - you would feel with this new part of your body."

"And would my new tongue have a sense of taste?"

"I don't know. You would be the first to undergo this procedure."

I went home to think it over. Initially it seemed like a ridiculous concept, but the more I thought about it, the more excited I became. I researched about transplants and medical procedures.

A week later I visited Dr Mike again to talk through details.

Yes, it was done under general anaesthetic. No, I would not feel or taste straight away. Yes, it was almost guaranteed success.

"The setting for the organ is perfect - the mouth and the vagina present a moist environment in self-secretions. Actually, the cells in the walls of your cheeks are very similar to cells in vaginal wall."

"We create a connection point on the posterior vaginal wall." He produced an image and talked it through. Apparently there was strong tissue that the organ could fix onto. "And the muscles will affix to the bone, right back here, at the sacrum."

"And how long does it take to heal?" I asked, nervous about the time in recovery.

"The nerves from your body will gradually grow into the organ. The natural growth rate of nerves is only about one millimeter per week. But we have developed stem-cell growth compounds. The organ will be impregnated before the operation."

"Impregnated?!"

"No - not making

you

pregnant," Dr Mike smiled. "Injected with the chemical.

The nerves will grow much faster. Eight inches, about 8 days."

"What! Eight inches? What sort of tongue is that?" It sounded enormous. Was I getting an elephant's tongue?

"Actually, the entire tongue organ is longer than you think. It connects to the hyoid so it actually goes right to the back -," he detected that he'd lost me. "It is anchored at the back to provide strength."

Now that I thought about it, the tongue size made sense. I'd had plenty of cocks all the way down my neck, and I'd felt them sliding on my tongue the entire way. The tip of the tongue - the dexterous and pretty part is what you see. The back of the tongue - where the thick mucus is produced and with bulky muscle and heavy texture - is where the business end of a deep-throat blowjob takes place.

Dr Mike raised the financials. "Now, can we talk about the cost?"

"Cost is no problem. I can handle whatever it is," I replied.

"Actually, it's not about the money. In return for the procedure, I would like the opportunity, if you don't mind, to be the first."

"The first?"

"Yes, when the procedure is complete, and you've returned to full functionality, so to speak, would you do me the honour of spending a night with me and demonstrating - well - whatever you can demonstrate."

"Oh Mike," I said, placing a hand gently on his hard member and smiling. "Nothing would give me more pleasure." I leaned over and delivered a long and lingering kiss on his lips and turned for the door. "I'll talk with your receptionist about booking a time. For the procedure, I mean."

"So it's on?" he asked.

"Yes."

Two nights before my procedure I booked a date with a famed NBA star. It was a hookup entirely for pleasure with no transaction involved at all. I knew that a big black cock would help calm my nerves for the experimental surgery ahead.

As it turns out, his cock was enormous and remained rock hard for the entire occasion. Over the duration of a night he pounded my tight little cunt until it was a tenderised piece of meat. I guess if the surgeons needed access deep inside, then this athlete was certainly forging a path. The girth of his cock stretched my pussy wide, and the length of his rod probed the deepest depths.

This was my last fuck with a normal pussy. I made the most of it and fucked as hard as ever. My orgasm was long and intense, and I wondered if I would retain that ability after my augmentation. In the morning, I saw my lover to the door and I wondered what he might think of me at our next encounter.

When the day came, I was prepared for the procedure at a small private hospital. I lay on a table beneath a thin blue sheet, surrounded by lights and equipment. I looked up to see Dr Mike's kind face gazing back at me with tenderness. A nurse leaned into my field of view. "You should start to feel drowsy," she stated clinically. "I'm going to count back from 10, 9, 8," and I was gone.

I woke a million years later feeling disoriented and groggy. As I opened heavy lids, a nurse shot up from a chair, pressed a button and attended to some electronics. "Welcome back ma'am," she offered. "Your surgery was a success and your recovery is all going to plan. The doctor will visit you shortly to let you know the details."

I nodded and mentally scanned my body. Physicality had been at the heart of my lifestyle and I had an intuitive sense of body. Limbs - fine but heavy. Head - an ache hinting at dehydration. Breasts - heavy and sensitive, just like normal. Tummy - a dull pain deep within. Back - a sharp pain in the lower vertebrae. Cunt - cunt? - I felt nothing.

I lifted the sheet and looked down to see my lower torso enveloped in white fabric. Before I had the chance to investigate, Dr Mike entered the room in surgeon's attire with a wide smile and sat at the edge of my bed. "It's been a great success Helena. The transplant went perfectly, and there were no hiccups. The tongue itself - it was beautiful. Of course, the act of donation always comes from a tragic story, but at least we are making the most of their life - their tongue lives on - in you." He patted my leg.

"What now, Doctor?" I inquired.

"We'll keep you here for the next two weeks, Helena. There are two nurses - Isabelle and Rachel - assigned just to you. They will conduct wound flushes and top up the healing compounds every couple of hours. If we can keep up the intensive attention, then two weeks is all it will take to reach full recovery. Much faster than traditional." With a quick goodbye, Dr Mike left. I noted the drip in my arm and soon the painkillers washed over me and I fell asleep once more.

When I woke again, I felt much more refreshed and Nurse Isabelle was in the room with me. I focused my attention between my legs and I could discern that there was something inside of me. It felt big, like a jade egg. There was no sensuality to the sensation, just the feeling of my cunt being full. The nurse lifted the sheets from the foot of the bed, and addressed the area dabbing some gauze and delivering a small injection.

"It looks good," she reassured.

"Can I see?" I asked.

"The doctor says tomorrow," she replied and covered me back up. The nurse assuredly stroked my legs, her strong hands running up and down my thigh. "We need that blood flow around your body," she smiled. "Your legs feel nice. Really nice." She spun to leave and I watched her cute ass as it wiggled on her way out of the door. Drowsiness soon returned and I drifted in and out of sleep.

With my groin under wraps I could only imagine how the anatomy would look. At one point, I woke from a dream, imagining that my pussy had become a clam, with the labia hardening into shells, and the tongue emerging like a mollusc's organ. But when I squeezed my thighs I could discern that my flesh was still soft and my fears were assuaged.

Nurse Rachel arrived at the change of shift. She arranged a mirror and removed the coverings to reveal my pussy. To me, the vulva looked unchanged. Maybe a little swollen. The familiar lips, thin slit and teasing clitoris were still apparent. There was definitely no tongue to see.

"Your pussy is gorgeous," Rachel complimented, and I saw her fingers brush against her own nipples as her body shivered. "The nerves are still connecting, so you won't actually feel the transplant yet. And that means you won't have muscle control. The muscles are there - they're just not hooked up to your brain. We need to keep the organ tissue moving. It will maintain the muscle tone, and help the nerve connections."

Rachel sat on the bed and ran her forefinger up and down the length of my slit. "Can I?" she asked, and I nodded. Rachel gradually inserted her forefinger and thumb into my pussy and grabbed hold of something. Obviously it was the tip of my new tongue, but I had no feeling of touch. She started to work the organ back and forth, but all I felt was a mechanical tugging from deep within me.

"I can feel that you are a little dry," she said. "Can I help?" I agreed. She leaned forward and licked my slit up and down. "So pretty," she murmured. Her tongue extended and circled around my burgeoning clit. Her fingers returned into my wet pussy and clasped the tip of the tongue again and worked it around.

And then I could feel it. Not the whole tongue, but bits of it. It was part of me but only the base had a sensation of touch. It was hard to explain, but I could tell that it belonged to me, although I couldn't actually move it myself, and I couldn't feel much more than the point of connection. After ten minutes of manipulation, and Rachel tonguing my clit, she pulled up. "We don't want you to cum, ma'am. There's still more healing to do. Thank you for letting me - be intimate with you."

The pattern continued for days. Between Rachel and Isabelle, my cunt was massaged and my new tongue worked out every couple of hours. It was the most consistent string of pussy licking that I'd received in my life. And with each session of therapy I could feel more and more of my new tongue. Soon enough, I discovered that I had gained muscle control too. It started off with a very clumsy spasm, but over time I could feel the surface of the tongue, the underside, and finally the tip.

After several days, I became able to manipulate the tongue. I rolled it around inside of my cunt, rubbing the walls. I folded the tongue back and I could feel the little donut of my cervix. I extended the tongue, and discovered that it could reach all of the way out of my pussy lips.

When Nurse Rachel came to deliver her regular pharmaceuticals and cunnilingus, I surprised her with my new skills.

Rachel licked the length of my slit to moisten my cunt. She was leaned over, with her lips hovering over my mound and her tongue extended to my clitoris, preparing to insert her fingers into my pussy. I pressed out with my tongue and I felt the tip connect with her own. She moaned with delight. "Oh ma'am, I've been waiting for this. Your cunt is so pretty, but now, with a tongue - this is heaven." Our tongues swirled together in a mixture of saliva and my pussy juice, I curled it upwards to my clit, and our two tongues circled with my swollen button in the middle receiving attention from all sides.

I let my tongue slip back inside, then out, in and out, and it yielded the same sensation as a cock fucking my pussy. Rachel took my lead, and her tongue followed mine - as I retracted my tongue into my cunt, I felt Rachel inject hers through my pussy lips. As I extended my tongue, it pushed against hers, and her pink tongue glided out through my slit as my tongue stretched.

I drew my tongue back inside myself and Rachel pursed her lips around my clit and sucked it into her mouth. I pressed my tongue against the front wall of my pussy searching for that magic spot. The ruffled skin eventually gave way to a smooth section and I forced the tip of my tongue hard. My G-Spot responded and I felt a squirt of fluid inject into Rachel's face. She continued sucking, I continued stroking. An orgasm was growing within me.

"Don't stop," I said and Rachel continued a steady pattern of sucking my clit into her mouth and then spitting it back out again between her lips. My cunt was burning. My tongue was on fire. My belly was electric. And then I burst with a wave of orgasm, my cunt twitching and my tongue in spasm over and over.

Rachel smiled and wiped the juices from her chin. I lay relaxed.

"It seems everything is in working order," she smirked and touched my leg. "I'll let the Doctor know that you are ready."

"Ready for what?"

"Ready for

him

. I believe you have an understanding. He is an excellent lover," the nurse winked and departed.

I was transported home that day, and able to return to normal life and regular activities, though I was not yet ready for any client engagements. The Doctor was to be the first, of course, and I was excited to reveal my new abilities and to see how a man would react.

On the night of our appointment, I dressed in sheer lingerie. Our date was in the safety of my penthouse suite, so there was no need for any other clothes.

I watched myself in the mirror as I dressed. I'd often exhibited an obvious camel toe look in the past as a visible invitation to my pussy. I could see the crease of my slit through the panties, but now I had something special. I pressed my new tongue to the edge of my lips and I saw the fabric stretch and the crease diminish. I pressed my tongue further and I saw a form pressing out on the panties from within. I pushed my tongue right out straining on the garment, and the unfamiliar sight shocked me, like a confined animal trying to escape from its cage. At first it repulsed me, but soon I was intrigued, and then I fell in love with the idea.

Doctor Mike arrived on time, as handsome as ever, neatly dressed with a bottle of Bollinger. A gourmet delivery arrived and we ate in a perfunctory manner, knowing that the main game of the night was ahead of us. Into the bedroom and Dr Mike transformed from his mild bedside manner into an alpha male in control.

I lay on the bed with my knees bent and my pussy crease obvious through the thin lingerie. Mike knelt between my legs, and I could see his cock barely contained in his pants.