Broken Shards and the Toy in the Mirror

"...Ugh."

When consciousness returned, it wasn't a skull-splitting headache that found her first. It was a vivid, tearing agony surging up from her belly — as if her guts were being shredded from the inside out.

"Hngh... nngh...!"

Na-bi curled on the floor and moaned. The instant she opened her eyes, the coppery stench of blood and the nauseating reek of vomit washed over her. She hadn't been out for long. But in that brief window, the foreign objects that had been tumbling around inside her from the impact of the fall had settled into place — in the worst possible configuration.

The rear was the real problem. The shock of landing hard on her ass had apparently snapped or pulverized the rigid plastic phallus lodged in her rectum. Every movement sent sharp fragments jabbing at her intestinal walls. It was far more piercing, far more viscerally horrifying, than when the thing had been a single solid mass.

"Urgh! Hrk! Cough...!"

The moment she woke, Na-bi gagged on reflex. Her stomach was empty, but every time her diaphragm convulsed, her body seized of its own accord. Trembling, she looked down at her lower half.

It was a massacre. Between her legs, the blunt black handle of a dildo jutted grotesquely ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from her swollen vaginal opening. The flesh around it was a mess of blood and white, frothy discharge. Behind her, the tip of the unidentified plastic cock protruding from her anus was twisted at a bizarre angle — proof that it had shattered inside.

"I have to get it out... this, right now..."

Na-bi knew it instinctively. If she left it like this, her insides would be carved to ribbons and she would die. Through bleary eyes she scanned her surroundings. The thing she'd tried to grab earlier — the thing that had struck her in the head and rolled away. A 1.8-liter bottle of cooking oil, yellow liquid sloshing inside, lay toppled beneath a steel shelf.

"Hngh... nn..."

Na-bi crawled. Across tile soaked in the blood and sweat and piss she'd spilled, she dragged herself like a crushed insect. With every handspan of progress the shards in her gut scraped her viscera, but she couldn't stop.

At last her fingers closed around the oil bottle. With blood-slicked hands she gripped the slippery cap and twisted with everything she had.

A click. A pop.

The lid came off, and the rich smell of cooking oil filled the air — an ordinary, everyday scent so grotesquely mismatched to the situation that it turned her stomach all over again. Na-bi cupped her palm and poured the oil in a thick stream. The sticky, lukewarm yellow liquid ran down her fingers.

She brought that oil-smeared hand between her legs.

"Hhk! It burns!"

Her vaginal opening was already stretched to its limit, torn. The oil seared the wounds. But Na-bi clenched her teeth. She forced her fingers into the narrow gap between the dildo and her flesh. Most of the oil couldn't get into the tightly clenched hole and simply ran down her thighs.

"Go in... please, just go in..."

She gripped the dildo's handle and worked it from side to side, little by little. A wet squelch. A squish. She pushed oil into the gaps as the flesh parted. She could feel the slickness seeping inward, bit by bit. The grinding friction eased, just slightly.

It was working. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠This time she turned her hand to the rear, to her anus. This was more urgent. The shattered pieces were dancing around in there. She slathered oil around her asshole as if pouring it on, then grabbed the plastic rod protruding from it.

"Nngh...! Ghhhnnn!"

She bore down. She had to push it out. At the same time, she pulled with her hand.

A crunch. A slicing rasp.

"AAAAAGH!!!!"

The sound was hideous. The plastic mass lodged in her anus didn't slide out clean. The crushed fragments came pouring out in clumps, sandpapering her already-ruined inner walls on the way. A sharp edge sliced across her sphincter as it passed.

But Na-bi didn't stop. If she stopped because it hurt, she'd never get it out. Screaming, she clenched the slippery mass of plastic in fingers that had already lost their nails, and she hauled it free.

A clatter. A thud. A wet plop.

"Hah, hah, cough...!"

At last the large mass came out. What hit the floor was a grotesque slurry of plastic shards smashed beyond recognition, clotted blood tangled among them, and mucus.

Terror arrived before relief. It wasn't over. The big piece was out, but the smaller fragments that had broken off inside were still embedded throughout her rectum. Every movement brought a stinging foreign-body sensation.

"I have to get them out... the rest of them too..."

Trembling, Na-bi tried to stand. No — she crawled. In the corner of the convenience store, a full-length mirror stood beside the bathroom door. She needed to see her own condition. She couldn't extract them without looking.

She could feel eyes on her from beyond the glass. The mannequins lurking in the dark were snickering at the sight of her crawling across the floor, a blood-soaked nude. They rubbed their smooth faces against the window, savoring her humiliation.

"Don't look... don't look at me..."

Na-bi reached the mirror, sobbing. She opened the first-aid kit and took out a pair of tweezers and a bottle of disinfectant. Then she sat with her back to the mirror and spread her legs in an M.

The reflection was a ruin. Her lower body was caked in blood, oil, and filth. The front hole with the black dildo still rammed into it, and the rear hole, gaping vacant now that she'd pulled the mass out. Every time that stretched anus pulsed, red blood welled and spilled through the gap.

Watching herself in the mirror, Na-bi reached the tweezers behind her.

"Hngh... nn..."

The cold metal tweezers touched her hypersensitive mucous membrane. She carefully eased the tips into the gaping hole.

A clink.

Contact. A hard fragment. Na-bi held her breath and pinched it with the tweezers.

A sting.

"Ah—!"

Pulling the fragment brought a pain like flesh being pinched. Na-bi flung the bloodied plastic shard from the tweezer tips onto the floor. Then she inserted them again.

One. Two. Three. Digging through her own body like this was so wretched ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠she could barely stand it. I'm not a person. I'm a broken toy being repaired. No — discarded waste that has to repair itself.

"Hhk... hh... Mom... it hurts..."

Grief and self-pity welled up until Na-bi's hands shook. Tears dripped onto the greasy floor. She bawled, but she didn't stop picking. She had to live.

How long she sat there weeping, picking fragments from her own flesh, she couldn't say. At some point, the pain began to recede.

A whisper of knitting tissue. A slick, sealing hush.

The curse of Indomitable. No — in this moment, it was a blessing. The anus and rectal walls that the tweezers had raked into tatters began to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠heal the instant the foreign matter was gone, flesh knitting with frightening speed. Her torn sphincter cinched tight once more. The bleeding stopped. The rear hole returned to clean, pink skin, as if none of it had ever happened.

The mannequins watching from outside looked openly disappointed. The toy that had been bleeding and writhing in agony had suddenly become whole again. The fun had gone out of it. One by one, they melted back into the dark.

"Hah... hah..."

Na-bi wiped her sweat-soaked face and let out a breath of relief. The rear was handled. But the real problem was the front.

She looked between her legs in the mirror again. The black industrial dildo, studded with vicious nubs. It was still there, seated as firmly as if it had become part of her body.

The problem was the depth. The impact of the fall had driven it past mere insertion. Like a bulldozer, it had shoved ahead of it all the smaller parts the mannequins had rammed into her earlier — fingers, joint-balls, and the rest — forced her cervix open, and buried itself deep inside.

"I have to... get it out..."

Na-bi poured the remaining cooking oil over her hand and slathered it generously around her vaginal opening. Then she gripped the dildo's handle.

It slipped.

The oil made her hand keep sliding off. She wrapped the handle in a scrap of clothing and took hold again. She drew a deep breath.

"Hhhnnnph!"

She pulled.

A grinding crack. A heavy lurch.

"AAAAAAAH!!!!!!"

The scream tore out of her on its own. It didn't feel like the thing was coming out. When she pulled on the dildo, it felt as if her uterus, caught on the end of it, was inverting and coming with it — like the guts of a fish snagged on a fishing hook.

And the situation further in was worse. As the dildo shifted, the smaller parts buried even deeper than it was moved with it, stabbing at her organs. The agony of her viscera being dragged along stole the breath from her lungs.

"Hah, hhk... I can't..."

Her face went ashen. She let go. This wasn't a problem force could solve. Her cervix had clamped around the neck of the dildo and would not release it. On top of that, the pain had made her vaginal muscles contract on instinct, gripping the foreign object even tighter.

A vicious cycle: the harder she tried to pull it out, the harder it clenched.

Na-bi gasped, drowning in terror. It felt as if a heavy, hard stone had settled in her belly. The slightest movement and it was like a blade turning inside her.

"What do I do... I can't get this out..."

Helplessness closed over her. The cooking oil was drying. Her vaginal opening was swelling. The woman in the mirror — legs spread, weeping, a black dildo still rammed into her — was a broken doll, nothing more.

Na-bi sank to the floor and cradled her swollen lower belly. Beneath her palm she could feel the hard outline of the plastic. With desolate eyes she looked up at the convenience store ceiling. She had made it into a Safety Zone. But hell was still inside her body.