RECONSTRUCTION

RECONSTRUCTION

The harvesting of body parts continues while Kathy’s becoming a part of the company, becoming quite an asset, or assets.

Chapter Two

       Face up in a prone position; the donor’s forced to stare toward the bright glare as she blinks her eyes.  Suspended, stretched tautly into the severe spread-eagled position, she awakens to find herself still virtually immobile.  The white room encircles her as she tries to glance around, only her eyes darting back and forth as she feels the dull ache of the top of her head being held firmly in place, rigid.  The same sensations from each individual finger, each individual toe as she feels the tenseness of the rest of her stretched body, the constant pricking sensations from the mounted intravenous tubes, the dull ache throughout.  It’s the same feeling she’s felt for what seems like days, weeks, each time awakened in the same suspended position.

       Quiet, almost complete silence except for the monitors above her head, she feels the constant beating of her heart in her chest as she glances toward her pulsing breasts while unable to raise her head.  Barely able to catch a glimpse of her wrapped globes barely visible above her sternum, she’s lost track as to how long she’s been like this, how long it’s been since she’d appeared for a scheduled photo shoot interview only to walk into a vacant office, be pricked by a needle in her neck from behind, awaken here.

       The client’s wheelchair’s rolled in front of the glass partition so she can glance in toward her chosen donor.  Again seeing her youthful, tan naked body suspended, contrasting with the brilliant white background of the gauze wrapped around her chest, of the sanitized surgical room, she nods approvingly toward the curator standing beside the wheelchair, back toward the orderly behind it.  The curator glancing down toward the reconstructed client, her now youthful appearing nude body showing just the faintest of bruising, she taps her on the shoulder, softly speaks.  “That’s her… There she still is… Let’s take a final, closer look… See what you’re going to look like when you wake up after the reconstruction tomorrow.”  Moving the wheelchair toward the door, she adds.  “It could have been our brand new donor… Kathy… She’s being prepared in the next room… Quite nice herself… But for some reason I’ve been instructed she’s off limits for now.”

       Swiping the card, the door sliding open, the wheelchair rolls into the brightly lit room as the client’s concentration focus’s toward her donor’s face as they roll closer.  Five stainless steel supports encircling the donor, their wires stretch from each of the corners, spread to each finger, each toe as the fifth pillar sets between the medical instruments with their connected tubes, directly in line with the donor’s head, its taut wires disappearing into her scalp.

       The wheelchair stopped just a foot or so from the donor’s torso, the client leans forward, curiously, almost hesitantly glances at her next face.  An approving nod as she looks up toward the curator holding a mirror across the other side of the donor, giving a view of all the angles of the rigid face, for a moment their eyes locking through the reflection of the mirror.  Reaching up, touching her own face, her cheek, chin, the donor slides her hand across her own forehead as she glances back toward the curator, a hint of a smile in her eyes as she nods.

       “Yes… Yes quite beautiful.”  She approves, obviously more then pleased.  “She’ll fit quite nicely with the rest of what you’ve done for me… Don’t you think?”

       “Yes… And actually, she’ll be quite lucky to get yours; after all, you’re still quite attractive yourself.”  The curator nods as they turn the wheelchair around, roll it toward the still open door.  “Some donors aren’t so lucky with what they receive in return.”

       Hearing the conversation, eyes darting toward the three leaving the room, the door shutting behind them, she feels the queasiness in the pit of her stomach, her heart pounding in her chest as she lets their words sink in above the drugs, words she’s heard before involving other parts of her body.

       Another day or so slips by, she hears the door sliding open again, surgical masks and hospital gowns surrounding her as the specially prepared gurney’s slid beneath her head.  Another tray slid beside her, the brilliant light above her is lowered toward her face as she squints her eyes shut, barely recalling prior procedures.  The fluid of the I.V. in her arm intensifying, the room hazes as she blinks, blinks again before fading into a disturbing darkness as she feels the rapid thumping in her chest, the fear of what’s happening to her again racing through her bewildered mind as she drifts into a prolonged unconsciousness, through the harvesting.

       The room empty, quiet except for the constant whirring of the monitoring devices attached to her, she groggily awakens, the sedation leaving her partially numb.  She immediately feels the bandages, the gauze surrounding her face, her head, even as it’s still held rigid.  Still spread-eagled, still mounted in mid air by the guide wires to her fingers, toes, she glances hazily through the slits of her dressings, the bright light again adjusted higher toward the ceiling.  Craning her eyes, still barely able to see just the gauze wrapped across her spread breasts across her torso, she sees the masked face of the nurse lean across her, adjust the clear tube.  The now familiar warmth spreading through her arm, she again drifts into darkness.

       Her dreams delusional, drifting in and out of consciousness, masks leaning over her, the machines still whirring above her, the gauge less binding, the wraps thinner, she continues to remain mounted with her limbs basically numb.  The drugs becoming less potent, her scrambled thoughts drift toward some sort of reality, if a terrifying reality.  Facing the bright light, staying conscious for longer periods of time, the machines disappear, some of the tubes disconnected, until she awakens with the wrappings removed.

       The time span immeasurable, she finds herself again alone, still spread-eagled as she was the very first day of her agonizing predicament, but now with an ‘O’ ring placed firmly in her mouth spreading her lips apart, a braces type apparatus fastened to her teeth.  Fully alert, her face seeming less swollen, the pain now just a dull ache from above her neck, across her now bare chest, she hears the door sliding open.  Footsteps approaching, glancing toward her right, toward the door with her craning eyes, she sees the curator approaching with another women dressed in hospital garb, a white mask stretched across her mouth and nose.

       “Well… I see the two of you are doing just fine from your post-ops.”  The curator nods toward the donor as she runs the tips of her fingers across the hairline, beneath the chin of the again totally naked woman in the guide wires.  Turning toward the masked face of the client, she nods, almost whispers.  “Go ahead… Take a closer look… Slip off your mask… Show her!”

       The donor blinking into the light, seeing the woman leaning over her as the mask slips off, the light finally blocked, she stares upward into her own face.  Eyes widening, heart pounding, her body quivers in the taut strands spreading her apart as she grunts through the ’O’ ring in horror.  Visibly jerking in her taut confinement, she groans again as the woman slips her robe open, exposing her perfect breasts, firm and taut with a small mole just above the left nipple.  Eyes darting from the curator back to the woman’s face, her bare breasts, she feels the warm solution flowing into her veins as the curator adjusts the tube.  The words becoming almost instantly hazy, in slow motion, her eyes’ locking with the woman’s above her, the room dims into darkness as she drifts back into her nightmare.

       “Well… What do you think?”  The curator asks as they both look down at the donor’s unconscious body.

       “Amazing!”  The client answers, sliding a finger across the donor’s familiar face as she slides another across her own.  “I’m looking down at myself… As she was looking up at herself!... Amazing…. Thank you so much!”  Again giving a final stroke across the donor’s forehead, cupping her new, firm breasts as she glances at the familiar silicon augmented breasts spreading outward across the donor’s chest, she adds.  “I’ve used two of her better assets … Didn’t I?... What becomes of her now?”

       Smiling, a gentle nod, the curator nods.  “Yes… But don’t worry… We have a waiting list for the rest of her parts… We’ll be harvesting them in the next couple days… We have quite the demand for them… And… All said and done, she’s a lucky one in a way… She’ll still be worth something on the black market with her exchanged donations… Besides you know the rules… For security reasons… No more then two parts from any single donor.

       “I know… I know.”  The client smiles.  “Wouldn’t want someone mistaking me for her… Especially if they’d been intimate with her before… The whole body can’t match… I know… Besides… I’m quite pleased with my own reconstruction just as it is…. Yes… To be twenty five again… Who said… What money can’t do?”  A final look, turning and leaving the room, the door shuts behind them, leaving the drugged induced donor by herself.

       More hours passing, awakened to the sensation of being scrubbed down, her torso, breasts and thighs drenched, washed, she feels the cool sensation across her bare flesh as she opens her eyes.  Her mouth still wired open, glancing hazily toward the orderlies on either side of her she feels her body quivering, being manipulated as she’s stretched out between them.  Both orderlies muscular, working her body, they exchange lewd comments, taking advantage of her naked body as they stroke, manipulate her harder, larger breasts, work her vagina with their fingers along with the sponges, rags.

       Glancing down between her spreading breasts, the nipples, areolas larger, wider then normal, the unnatural weight of their expansive global shapes pressing down against her chest as they’re manipulated, even in a dazed state she still realizes there’s something horribly wrong as she feels the hands gripping, twisting the twin globes, not like her own naturally firm breasts, without her mole above the nipple.  Eyes darting side to side, watching the men scrubbing her bare flesh, she senses the presence of the curator stepping between her thighs, pressing, dabbing a marker across her flesh, around her thighs, below her navel, between her legs. Watching the curator stepping to the side, adjusting the intravenous tube, she again drifts away into darkness, into her nightmarish state.

       Stepping away, letting the orderlies finish their prepping, the curator leaves the donor being prepared for her next harvest scheduled for first thing in the morning.  Next stop, just across the hall, the room with their newest arrival, Kathy.  Already several days since her arrival, she glances through the one way window at her.  Her naked body completely shaven from the neck down, a shock collar firmly attached around her throat, she paces back and forth in the padded four foot by eight foot cell.  A single bulb glaring down from above a wire screen in the ceiling, the light reflects off her glistening flesh as she seems to count her steps from wall to wall, arms down to her sides, wrists cuffed to a taut waist belt, her firm breasts jaunts angrily outward as her dark hair flails across her bare shoulders.

       Measured, categorized the first day, the administration’s still withholding their authorization for her harvest.  Actually the delay’s most unusual as the curator smiles to herself, knowing what the holdup is, especially with her being a premium commodity.  Close to closing time, then with just the minimal crew for the clients in the separate hospital wing and she’ll be alone with her soon, to really have a closer look with no one else present.  Another glance through the one way glass and she slides her card at the door, leaves to secure the premises.

       The lights lowered, the hallways vacant, she steps back toward Kathy’s cramped, private quarters.  Again glancing through the glass divider, toward Kathy slumped naked against the wall, she smiles as she traces her finger across her own cheek, across her breast.  Slipping the card in the slot, holding the transmitter to the shock collar in her left hand, she enters the cell.

       “Stand!”  She orders as the door shuts, sealing behind her. “Stand and turn.”

       Glancing up, slowly twisting as she kneels, then stands, Kathy glares at the curator as her wrists remain affixed to the belt surrounding her waist.

       “I said turn!... And don’t speak… Remain silent.”  The curator demands, holding the ominous palm sized transmitter in her hand.  “Now!”

       Glancing toward the curator’s hand, having already been shown its effects when the collar was first affixed to her neck, slowly turning, she does a complete rotation before stopping, glaring into the curator’s eyes.

       “Very good… Yes… Very good indeed.”  The curator smiles, stepping even closer.  “Let’s see.”  Reaching up with her free hand, cupping Kathy’s left breast, then right, again she nods.  “Yes quite nice… D cups… Aren’t they?”  Both breasts swaying, the nipples taut on the global melons as she releases them, she slowly steps behind Kathy, touching her left butt cheek then her right, again nodding with approval at the firm rounded buttocks.

       Stepping in front of Kathy again, tracing her index finger across her cheek, across her chin, finally her forehead, she again approvingly nods, steps back a step.  “Spread your legs for me… Let me see down there.”

       Defiantly glaring back, refusing to obey, she watches as the curator threateningly raises the transmitter in her hand.  Nodding, spreading her feet, she lowers her face as the curator steps closer, slips her finger down across her shaven pubic mound toward the parting slit above her clit.

       “Lets see… Spread a little further for me… Let me see that clit.”

       Again glaring, again glancing toward the transmitter, she obeys, slightly squats as she spreads her hips.  Feeling the finger slipping into her slit, pressing against her clit, she clenches her fists, tightens her thighs.

       “Yes… Yes quite nice… Yes that’s all I’ll need for now.”  Speaking mainly to herself, satisfied with the tightness on her finger, she nods approvingly toward Kathy.  Stepping toward the door, slipping the card through the slot, she exits, closing the door behind her.

       Securing the door, stepping into the hallway she smiles to herself.  Same height, same weight, as soon as she saw her she realized it was time for her own reconstruction.  This time though, a complete transformation.  Being the curator has its advantages.

End Part 2