"Visit to Nanna’s [F] Submission Date: 2018-11-19By: Chastebo" By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu) URL: https://pastebin.com/skpLApVZ Created on: Friday 24th of April 2020 02:39:25 PM CDT Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:01:53 AM UTC Visit to Nanna’s [F] Submission Date: 2018-11-19By: Chastebob [Clitoridectomy] [Femcirc] [Masturbation] [Minor]flag - Fiction Rachel has developed a bad habit. This story is inspired by the same discussion that inspired Queen of Kink's story "My Circumcision". Rachel Long was a bright girl, not too far into her teen years. Attractive and smart, her parents had always been proud of her, confident in her ability to grow into a fine adult and have a fulfilling life. Both her mother and father had been raised on farms but left for the city to seek their fortunes. Mom’s parents lived too far away to see very often, but her dad’s parents, Nanna and Grandad, lived only an hour’s drive away. They were a little old fashioned and continued to do things the way they had when they were kids. They had no WiFi at their house, still used a landline telephone tethered to the wall by a wire and only got the TV that was broadcast over the “airwaves” as Grandad called it. Despite being hopelessly out of tune with the modern world they were happy, loving people, faces always full of smiles. Nanna always had cookies or some other treat available in her kitchen, and meals there were to die for. As proof of how much Rachel loved them, she didn’t even mind that her phone had no Internet connection when she was with them. Her world had been about as perfect as it could be until her grades started to slip. Mom and dad were concerned. Was there a problem with the material? Did she need a tutor? They were willing to help in any way possible. She declined it all, assuring them she could manage, that she’d get through it. Of course Rachel knew very well what the problem was, and it had nothing to do with the difficulty of what she was being taught. She had discovered masturbation. Well that wasn’t strictly true, she’d known since she was a little girl that rubbing ‘down there’ felt good; in fact, thinking back on it she’d actually experienced an orgasm or two before. But it was different now. Now boys, sex and orgasms were almost all she thought of. It began simply enough. She woke up one morning from a dream where a boy was holding her and kissing her all over while his other hand caressed her body gently. It felt so good and her hands just seemed to find her spot on their own. It wasn’t long before she was rubbing that spot every morning when she awoke. It felt so good, like a great way to start the day. She was curious about the spot that felt so good so she got out a hand mirror when she was in the bathroom. There was a lot of loose skin all around the spot. When she pulled the skin back to get a better look, it got hard. To her it looked and felt like a little bead, the kind she’d played with as a child. So that was it, she thought to herself, that’s my “love bead”. She added a night time orgasm to her routine, she felt so relaxed and fell asleep so nicely after. It felt right to start and end the day this way. Of course it didn’t stop there. When she was having her morning shower, washing down there, and getting clean between all the folds of skin, rubbed the bead a lot, and got her very excited. The quickest way to regain composure was to just rub the little bead a bit more. So the shower orgasm was added to the schedule. In school she had always grasped the concepts being taught so quickly that while the rest of the class was still learning today’s lesson, she was reading ahead to the next chapter. Now instead of reading ahead, she was thinking about the things boys liked to do down there and how that might feel to her love bead and daydreaming about her next chance to rub it. It was not long before she was using toilet breaks during the day to work her little bead, and thinking about how good it felt and when she could next do it when new material was being presented in class. Then she was using her homework time to research masturbation techniques and toys. Not surprisingly her grades began to drop. She knew what the problem was but she just couldn’t stop. She set up a study date for after school with her best friend, something she hadn’t done in weeks. “Annabelle, can I ask you something private?” Rachel asked. “Sure, we’re friends aren’t we?” “Do you ever play with yourself? Down there,” she blurted out in a soft voice. “You mean masturbate? Sure! Everyone does it. Are you worried about that?” “I guess so. How often do you do it?” Rachel asked, trying to appear casual. “Oh,” Annabelle said sounding a little guilty, “Two, or three times a week, usually on Saturday night. But a month ago when we had that big biology quiz, I did it on Wednesday night just to, I dunno, relax and focus on cramming for the test. How about you? How often do you do it?” “Oh, about the same.” Rachel’s heart sank into the fear she had been trying to avoid facing. “Yeah, Saturdays are good days for it, aren’t they?” she answered trying to sound like the matter was all finished. Her conversation with Annabelle only confirmed her worst fears that she was out of control with her masturbation. When her parents first talked to her about her slipping grades and offered a tutor she was mortified. It was as if the secret was already out there. But she promised them she could handle it and get her grades back on track. She made a firm resolution not to masturbate. Twelve hours later she was in her bed and her hand strayed down her body. Her fingers found her labia and pulled on them gently, stretching them away from her body and pulling on her love bead. After toying with them for a little she made circular motions around the bead until she felt it get very hard. Then dipping lower to wet her fingers in the juice that always seemed to accumulate when she did this, she started to rub the bead back and forth, up and down. She’d read about some of the things boys did with it and she tried to imagine a boy’s mouth over it, his tongue flicking and licking it. Her fingers were flying rapidly over her bead and then it happened; her legs went rigid, her feet flapped up and down and her toes curled up so tight she almost had a muscle cramp from it. When her orgasm passed she was exhausted, and filled with shame. Twelve hours, that’s all her resolve was good for? Rachel had been raised a good girl. She knew not to lie to her parents and that she could turn to them for help with any problem. It was just that this was such an embarrassing problem. After a week of similar failures of resolve she realized that she had to talk to her mother. With difficulty Rachel confessed that her school work had been faltering because she’d been too interested in thinking about sex and masturbating. She didn’t volunteer how often she did it and mother didn’t ask. What was clear at the end of their discussion was 1) this was a serious problem since it was affecting her school work and every other aspect of her life, and 2) Rachel couldn’t handle this by herself. When her mom privately discussed it with her dad they were concerned about the options. There was private counseling but who knew how long that might take and in the meantime her grades were being trashed and that would certainly affect what schools she could get into later. There were addiction treatment centers but Rachel would clearly be opposed to that, since it would mean disappearing for about a month or so and having to come up with some explanation to her friends. Worse still the school would need to know the real reason, even if it were just a generic addiction treatment center that would get around as well. That could ruin her chances for friends and recommendations to good schools later. That’s when her dad recalled overhearing that his grandmom, Nanna’s mother, used to help neighbor women’s children with similar problems. “I’m pretty sure that’s what they were talking about, though they used all sorts of coded phrases like ‘unladylike behaviors’ and ‘selfish pleasures’. I could ask her if she knows anything about it,” he said. “What exactly did they do?” “I don’t know, that was women’s business, but I do know it was very effective,” he said, then added, “Besides, what difference does it make? Do we really have any other alternative?” “I suppose not.” When dad contacted Nanna and briefly disclosed the problem she was very concerned about her only granddaughter. Yes, she knew her mother’s methods, and no further discussion was needed. She was certain she could cure Rachel of the habit. Just bring her by in the morning with enough things to stay for a few days. “Just leave everything to me,” Nanna said in her cheerful voice. “Our girl will be right as rain in no time.” Rachel was mortified when she learned that mom and dad had told Nanna about her problem. She knew Nanna still thought of her as a sweet, innocent little girl, and she didn’t like losing that image so profoundly. However, just like her mother and father, when she examined the other alternatives, this did seem like the best of a bad lot of choices. When Rachel arrived the next morning, Nanna greeted her with the same smiles and hugs as she always had, just as if nothing was different. It felt good and reassuring. “Sweetie, go on into the kitchen. There’s cookies on the table. I just need a word with your father,” Nanna said. Just as Nanna had said a big plate of oatmeal cookies was sitting on the sturdy old kitchen table Grandad built from 4 x 4’s. Rachel thought about the number of times she’d sat at that very table listening to Nanna talk about what it was like long ago. Then she noticed an old wooden cigar box on the table. She didn’t recall ever seeing it before. Curious, she opened the lid. Inside were a strange collection of things. There was a pair of scissors with extremely short blades, a button hook that appeared to have been sharpened, an old paring knife with a very sharp but discolored blade, and two short bicycle spokes with clips that could hold them together. Before she could think about the items any more she heard Nanna coming up the steps. She shut the box lid and tried to act natural. “Where’s Grandad?” she asked when Nanna was inside. “I sent him off to town,” Nanna said. “This don’t concern the menfolk.” Rachel was actually relieved. Nanna sat down at the table with the corner between them. It could have been any other visit with her grandmother, but Rachel was still crestfallen, she felt she’d let her Nanna down, let her whole family down, and let herself down. But Nanna didn’t rebuke her or shame her; she just smiled at her with love in her eyes, like always. “So,” she said, still smiling but making it clear that they were going to talk seriously. “How long you been fiddling with your girly parts?” “I dunno exactly,” Rachel was taken off guard by the sudden directness of the question. “Maybe six months ago?” “I see,” she said with a small reassuring smile. “And how often do you do it?” “Oh I only do it four or five times a week,” she lied, thinking that upping the number from Annabelle’s total would be enough. Nanna’s face was still kindly but she was shaking her head ‘no’. “Rachel, sweet child, I can’t help you if you aint’t gonna be honest with me.” In a moment of rebelliousness or just defensiveness, Rachel shot back. “How do you know that’s not the truth!?” Nanna almost laughed. “Honey, no girl as smart as you has her grades drop in every subject just ‘cause she’s fiddlin’ with herself four or five times a week.” Rachel couldn’t argue with that logic. “OK you’re right. It’s three times a day!” Shame rushed over her, having to admit to her sweet grandmother that she was playing with herself that often almost brought her to tears. Nanna reached over and put a hand on her hand. “Are you sure that’s the truth, child?” she asked with an earnestness in her eyes that Rachel couldn’t stand to betray any further. She burst into tears. “No, it’s really more like six or seven times a day!” she said sobbing. “Oh, Nanna, I’m so sorry, and when I’m not doing it, I’m thinking about doing it.” “There, there, child,” Nanna said leaning over and comforting her with a big hug. Breaking the hug, Nanna sat back down in her chair. “So you’re feeling shame about it. That’s good. That will help. You do know what’s wrong with this, don’t you?” “I know it’s wrong, Nanna, but it feels so good. I just can’t help myself.” “Sweetie, there ain’t nothin’ wrong with a woman feeling good when she has to do her marital duty. Or even if she needs a little ‘pick me up’ every now and then. But iffin she neglects her responsibilities, like yours are school, there’s a problem. It’s the women who make sure that the things get done that need gettin’ done. And there ain’t no man who’s gonna want a wife who is more concerned about her pleasure than his. That’s how we make sure that they do their part, by quietly parceling out their pleasure with us.” Nanna let that sink in for a minute. “The girls who don’t get control of this,” she continued, “have a horrible fate waitin’ for them. They got no family, no friends, nothin’ that could interfere with them gettin’ their good time.” “But what are we going to do, Nanna? I’ve tried to quit, honestly I have,” Rachel was desperate and pleading. “Tell me, if it didn’t feel so good, would it be easier to quit?” Nanna asked. Rachel thought for a moment. “I suppose so,” she said. “Then I need you to ask me to help you with this,” Nanna said her tone suddenly serious. “But how…I mean what are you going…” Rachel started, but trailed off as her eyes glanced at the cigar box. Nanna saw it too. “You looked in the box?” Nanna asked softly. Rachel nodded her head. “You use those…” Rachel began to ask but Nanna’s nodding stopped her question. Surely it couldn’t be! The ordinary items in the box suddenly seemed horrible and frightening. The girl started trembling. Mustering a little courage she asked, “Will it hurt?” “Yes, it will,” Nanna answered honestly and promptly. “But it’s nothin’ compared to the rest of your life. You know what the consequences of not stopping will be. That hurt will go on a lot longer. Is that what you want?” “No, I suppose not,” Rachel said. “Good girl. Now ask me to help you make it feel less good.” “Nanna, please help me. I don’t want it to feel so good I can’t stop.” Nanna hugged her tight. “I will, honey. I will help you.” They hugged for a moment longer then Nanna served her some tea, and soon after Rachel fell asleep. She awoke to the cold and stinging feel of alcohol being rubbed all over her privates. She was naked, lying on her back on the kitchen table. Her butt was right at the edge of the table with some towels under it, her arms were pulled back and tied to the table legs. Her legs were tied at the ankles and pulled back toward her head and also secured to the table legs. A wide leather belt used to hold a saddle on a horse was across her middle holding her firmly to the table. Nanna was standing at the foot of the table between Rachel’s legs. “It doesn’t seem like so long ago I had you in this same position to change your diaper,” she mused to herself. “Sorry about the tea, sweetie, but a lot of girls get cold feet when they see how we have to restrain them. Trust me, girl, it’s for your own good. Thrashin’ about is gonna make it hurt worse and maybe even cause more harm than need be. Just try to relax. The first part of this isn’t bad at all.” Rachel just nodded and tried to concentrate on breathing slow and regular. Nanna slowly rubbed Rachel’s love bead, and it got hard as it always did. But then she started to rub further up from the bead, touching only the hard shaft under the loose skin that lead up to the bead. It felt just as good to Rachel, her pussy got wetter, the little shaft got harder and she found herself making the same little noises and movements with her hips that she did when she was getting closer to an orgasm. Nanna just nodded sagely and murmured “Uh huh.” Then she moved further up the shaft and pressed harder. This didn’t feel as good and Rachel didn’t react much. Nanna made another nod and wordless sound. “What exactly are you going to do?” Rachel asked, her voice trembling with fear. “What do you call this?” Nanna asked, touching her bead again. “The bead, the love bead,” she answered. “Well your bead, as you call it, is really more like a worm. Only the head sticks out and that’s why it looks like a bead to you. From examining you, we need to get out part of the worm as well. Oh, and these two little flaps that are attached to it,” she said while touching her labia. “they have to go too.” Rachel started to sob. She knew she needed this, but she was so unsure she could stand the pain and the loss of her love bead. Her sobbing was cut short with a sharp cry of pain as Nanna used the short bladed scissors to sever the flaps’ attachment to the love bead. Nanna pulled the left flap between the bicycle spokes and tightened them together. The spokes were close to Rachel’s body. After checking to be sure she had enough of the flap caught outside the spokes, she reached for the paring knife on the stove. The blade had been in the gas flame and was very hot. Using the spokes as a guide, Nanna slid the hot knife blade down severing and cauterizing as it went. Rachel screamed as she felt the burning pain around her pussy. Her leg muscles contracted trying to pull in and protect her parts, but the bonds held tight. When Nanna was satisfied that there was no bleeding she undid the clips on the spokes. But as attached them to the other flap Rachel panicked. “NO DON’T! PLEASE stop! I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want this!” “It’s too late to change your mind, sweetie,” Nanna said as if stating an obvious fact. “It hurts too much!” Rachel said through her sobs. “I can’t take any more.” “Of course you can,” Nanna said reassuringly, then added, “I know it hurts but you have no choice now. Here bite down on this, it’ll help.” She put a rolled up wash cloth in her mouth. The cutting and cauterizing were repeated on the right flap. Rachel’s screams were muffled but the futile contractions of her leg muscles were not. Nanna always marveled at how similar the reactions were to the spasms of pleasure. There was a link there, through this flesh. Pushing back and pulling up the loose skin at the top of the love bead, Nanna took the short bladed scissors and snipped off a lot of it. Then she used the hot knife to stop the bleeding. Now Rachel’s worm could be seen more clearly. Using the sharpened button hook and she snagged the worm’s head and tugged. Rachel felt the pulling deep inside and it ached as she had never felt an ache before. Nanna took the hot knife a made a curving cut about an inch in from the worm’s head. She had to hold the knife in place longer to stop the bleeding. Rachel screamed so loud in spite of the cloth. She shuddered all over from the pain. A stream of pee trickled down her pussy to be absorbed by the towels under her. Nanna applied some ointment over the wounds and covered them with a large period pad while Rachel’s breathing and crying slowly came under control. With the pad in place, she untied the girl’s limbs. Rachel immediately sat up to hug Nanna so tightly the old woman thought she might crack a rib. Nanna patted her back and smoothed her hair. “It hurt so much, Nanna,” she said, but there was no accusatory tone to her voice. “I know, child,” Nanna answered. “All Nature tries to keep a balance. It takes a lot of rain to balance out a drought. You had an excess of selfish pleasure, it takes a lot of pain to wash that away.” Rachel just nodded. At last the worst was over. Nanna helped her to bed, and to the bathroom on unsteady feet, where Rachel discovered that it was difficult to pee. Nanna checked on her to make sure the swelling didn’t close off her pee hole completely and used cold compresses and ointment to reduce it. At the end of the second day Nanna said she could go home. There was an even deeper bond between Rachel and her grandmother after that. They spent lots of time alone talking and looking at old medical books. When Nanna died, the cigar box was not among her possessions.