RECONSTRUCTION

RECONSTRUCTION

A young, beautiful and successful woman visits a cosmetic surgical institution in regards to expanding her business ties, to build her own empire in the business world.  Given the basic wherewithals of the possibilities, flown first class by the institution for a private meeting along with her business associate, she becomes a piece of the company.    

Chapter One

       Browsing through the female display side of the gallery, being told the men’s displays are in the other wing, curiously observing each exhibit, the molds of various portions of women’s anatomies are prominently displayed three dimensionally on their separate mounts.  Each individual section holding specific body parts, the row upon row of choices seems endless in the exorbitant hall not unlike some sort of a fetish art museum.

       Brought here out of curiosity by her business associate’s enticement after he told her about the establishment, flown overseas for her next business adventure with all expenses covered, its even more surreal then possibly expected.  Only in her mid twenties herself, the curiosity of the possibilities of something of this manner seemed intriguing, if at all even possible.  Even if it obviously wouldn’t be needed in the foreseeable future for her personally, the upside of the business could be incredible.  The quietness deafening, only the clicks of her heels on the marble floor echoing in the chamber, she struggles to refrain from touching the all too real displays as she waits for her associate and the curator to finish their business in the office.

       Toward the center of the chamber, she finds herself drawn to the gallery of breasts as various sizes; shapes and flesh tones are displayed in full pairs.  Mounted, jaunting outward from the wall behind them, absolutely natural looking, each is surrounded by just an inch or so of natural appearing flesh of its torso.  Glancing down the aisle, a quick count and it appears to hold at least a dozen on each side.  Glancing around, still left alone to mingle by herself, she glances toward the display directly in front of her, mounted toward the end of the aisle.  Struck by its appearance, she finds herself reading the gold gilded letters of the card beside it. (36. D. Caucasian. European. P04)

       In the back of her mind, thinking how unerringly  similar to her own breasts they appear to be, reaching out, touching, feeling a firm globe, she runs a thumb across the pierced nub of the nipple standing upright from the tan areola, a small gold stud piercing horizontally through it.  Cupping the globe, soft but yet also firm, she almost embarrassingly grips the matching breast in her other hand, it just as realistic in every way.  Palming both, even noticing their warmth, she glances around the sides of the exhibit almost certain she’ll see the rest of the`         woman behind the thin partition.

       The surreal feeling of comparing the similarities of the exhibit to herself, inquisitively slipping a hand across the top two buttons of her blouse, flipping them apart, her fingers sliding beneath her lace bra, she barely glides the tip of her index finger across the nub of her own nipple already standing upright, hard while in the back of her mind she’s wondering how that piercing on the display, that stud would feel in her own breast.  Circling a fingertip over her nipple, another on the display’s, she’s fascinated by the similarities, the sensation.  Cupping, squeezing each breast simultaneously, feeling the similar girths, even the matching firmness; she’s startled by the voice coming up from behind her.

       “Well… What do you think Kathy?... I told you didn’t I?”  Her associate speaks as he walks toward her.  Appearing in his mid forties, athletic, a rugged appearance, he keeps in step with the woman next to him.

       Jerking, turning back, embarrassed, her face flushing as she sees the two approaching her just a few feet down the aisle, she drops her hand, catching the sight of the display breasts bouncing, swaying as she releases them.  “Eh… Yea… Yes!”  She nods, shaking her head back and forth as she slips her other hand out from her blouse, again glances toward the perfect breasts, their high mounted nipples seeming to still be jiggling.  “My God Craig!... They’re… They’re almost too real!”

       “Well… What makes you think they’re not?”  The curator smirks, nodding toward the display, herself rather attractive in a stern way, her white smock perfect, pleats and all, her hair drawn tightly back into a bun, her dark horn rim glasses giving her an authoritative appearance.

       Quiet, nothing said for a moment, her acquaintance chuckles, firmly squeezes the displayed breast, flicks the gold stud.  “Yeh… They’re real alright… Know anyone these would look good on?”  He adds, giving a quick lewd glance toward her own substantial chest pressing outward against her silk blouse, the silhouettes of her hardening nipples visible even through her bra.  “You ever think of studs in your nipples?”

       “Yeh… Right Craig!”  She uncomfortably frowns, buttoning her top buttons.  “I guess I could use one of those asses over in the next aisle too… Right?”  She blurts out as a kind of sick joke, trying to change the subject, wishing she hadn’t said it even before the sentence was finished.

       “You really like this rack… Kathy?... These nipple studs excite you?... We couldn’t help noticing you working ‘em… Along with your other hand inside that blouse.”  Craig asks, his smile leaving his face, now a more serious look.  “It is top shelf though!... Isn’t it?”  Another grin, he adds.  “And actually… I don’t think there’s anything wrong with your butt either.”

       “Well… Thanks… I guess.”  She nods with disdain, her face still flushing as she turns away.  Trying to ignore his rudeness, she glances toward the curator.  “Tell me though… These are used for women to wear under their clothes… You know… To make them appear they’re built like that… Right?”

       “Actually… We really can modify individuals here.”  The curator answers as she steps past the last couple exhibits, an Oriental followed by a Hispanic, their vitals also on gilded cards.  Around the corner, she stands at the entrance of the row sporting various female buttocks.  “Look over here…. Let’s see.”  Stepping down the aisle, stopping in front of a display, she points at its gilded card.  (36. Caucasian. European. Dimple. 04)

       The trio standing in front of the rounded butt cheeks protruding out from the wall, Kathy leans forward, can’t help herself from fascinatingly glancing into the slit between the inch or so of upper thighs the curved bottoms of the buttocks is attached to.  Glancing toward the upper portion, it beginning just above the pair of dimples that would be below the small of the back, again unerringly, like her own, she glances toward the curator as she slips her fingers just above the left cheek.

       “Go ahead… You want too… Give it a feel.”

       The offer from the curator ringing in her ear, glancing toward Craig, back toward the display, she can’t refrain from gently patting the rump, sliding her fingertip against the rim of the rectum puckered between the twin mounds.  Again soft, and strangely warm to the touch, she closes his eyes as her fingers roam across the virtually perfect bare flesh, it too, so similar to her own.  Hesitating, biting her lip, she lets the tip of her index finger probe what would be the sphincter muscles surrounding the rectum, feels it gripping her finger. “Damn!... Did it… It just quiver?  “Damn!!”

       Jerking her finger out as she curses, glancing toward the pair standing to either side of her, she shakes her head.  “Hell!... I swear… It… That… That tensed around my damn finger!”

       A slight smile by the curator, a headshake by Craig with a seemingly knowing grin, they step around Kathy, walk toward the next aisle.  Passing several variations of pubic mounds, vagina’s, the curator glances from one to the other until she stops in front of the one she seems to be looking for.  ‘Here… Here’s their match.”  Again glancing at the gilded card, a little longer wording, Kathy gives it a quick read. (8. Shaven mound. Protruding labia folds. Firm. Caucasian. European. P04)

       Glancing closer, again the weird thought that she’s looking at a replica of herself, only with a glistening small gold ring mounted deeply into the clitoris, Kathy can’t believe she’s about to ask as she blurts out.  “I… I think I can decipher most of it… But what’s the… The eight?...  And firm?”

       “Depth!”  Craig smirks, glancing toward the curator, back toward Kathy.  “Its depth’s eight inches deep… And will stretch nice and tight around a real man’s cock!... Also has something a little extra to tug on!... Or spank… Even clamp things to… Like with those thick studded nipples you were experimenting with when we walked up on you… That’s if you’re into that kind of thing… Kathy… You know… Having a man do those kinds of things with…”

       “Yes… Your friend’s correct.”  The curator butts in as she notices Kathy’s mounting humiliation, gives Craig a disapproving scowl.  “If you’d like… Inspect it… Go ahead.”

       Glancing trancelike from one to the other, again feeling the warmth spreading across her face, like his words were describing her, she’s somehow again inquisitively drawn toward that exhibit.  Slowly reaching out her hand, hesitantly pointing a finger toward the gentle slope of the slick pubic mound, touching, feeling the soft flesh over what seems like the curved bone just above the slit, she finds herself slipping her finger down toward the puffy folds covering the dangling ring glistening from the clitoris.  Reaching out with her other hand, she spreads the slender folds of the perfectly formed labia, lets her finger slide inward, upward, into the moist slit.

       “Wow!”  Feeling her finger encircled by the moist tunnel, letting her thumb circle the nub of the clit, press the ring inward, she could swear it’s the real thing.  Tight, almost elastic, a damp sensation, she lets her finger gently slide in and out, again somehow, unbelievingly, the weird sensation of the very faintest of a response of the nub of the clitoris, the ring jiggling.

       “Well!”  Craig grins.  “Nice and tight pussy… Something like yours Kathy?”

       Flushing a beat red, stepping back, embarrassed, yet in her mind swearing she was touching her own, fingering her own vagina, she mutters.  “Quit being such an ass… Okay?”

       “Sorry… Sorry Kathy… Okay?”  He mumbles back.  “Just a joke… Lighten up… After all… You’re the one playing with those things.”

        Turning her head, a reflexive whiff of her finger under his nose, she shakes her head as she’s sure it’s the scent of a woman.  “How in the Hell can that be… I mean… They’re… They all seem so damn real!”

       “Seem?”  The curator nods.  “You’ve just seen the most sought after individual accessories of a particular package of one of our more popular females… That is… The parts most desired… Besides the face of course.”

       “What … What else would you possibly be able to… To offer?”  Dumbfounded, Kathy stutters as she asks.

       “They can offer anything Kathy… Absolutely any part can be made available.”  Craig answers more seriously, nodding toward the curator.  “Right?”

       “Oh yes… Yes… From hair to toes… Anything and everything!”  Nodding, turning, a flick of her hand, she leads them toward another area.  “Come with me.”

       Leading the pair to a closed door, its sign reading ‘Staff Only’ she slides a card connected to a long thin chain around her neck through the slot, opening the door as it buzzes.  Letting Craig and Kathy enter first, shutting the door behind her with a clank, she continues down a hallway, past several closed doors with green lights flickering above each.  Reaching a door with a red light glowing above it, she stops, slips the card into its slot.  Another buzzing, entering behind the two, they step into what appears to be in a pre-op area.  Wash facilities, to surgery garbs, the curator strolls past, gives another nod toward a curtained window on the far wall.

       Flipping a switch next to the curtains, they slowly spread apart giving a view of the other side.  Stepping toward the one way glass partition window, glancing through, a medical procedure appears to be in full swing.  A complete team of medical staff are performing an operation in a full blown surgery area.  All clothed in blue hospital garb, all wearing surgical masks, the bright light glares down across the operating table as a procedure’s being performed on a covered patient.  Sterile white sheets covering the entire body except for the chest area up-thrust on the table, the exposed pair of perfect breasts are streaked with a red solution as the surgeons methodically perform their procedure, appearing to be wrapping up.

       Glancing toward the curator, Kathy mumbles.  “What’s happening in…”

       “In there?”  The curator breaks in.  “What’s happening in there is just what you see…  The client’s receiving her new breasts Kathy.”  She explains as their heads again turn toward the procedure.  “No silicone… No fake augmentations… Just real… Real natural breasts sculpted to her by the most artistic surgeons in the field.

       “When they’re done.”  Craig adds.  “There won’t even be a noticeable scalpel line… Anywhere… Just perfect breasts… Right?”

       “You ought to know.”  The curator answers with a nod.  “You’ve seen the results first hand… Haven’t you?”

       Again taking in the procedure, the surgeons, their assistants wrapping up, the curator nods toward the glass.  “They’ll be taking her back to recovery in a couple moments… Take a look when she’s rolled by.”  Glancing toward Kathy, she adds. “She’s one of our more wealthy clients.  She’s been re-sculptured before… This time she’s also receiving a face to go with the rest of her replacements… By the way… She’s been with us about three weeks now… The face is the final surgery this time around.”

       Standing by the glass, silent as the client’s prepared to be transported from the operating room, the orderlies shove the gurney toward the door, past the window.  Laying flat on the gurney, the sheets removed, the woman’s naked body glistens as she’s wheeled past feet first.  Virtually hairless, just a few procedure stains, areas covered with salve, her body’s still incredible, the form that of a twenty-something showgirl, almost beyond perfection.  As the gurney rolls past, a tube still in her nostril, another taped to the corner of her mouth, her face appears that of an attractive woman, but a forty year old woman.

       “She’s in her late fifties… That we’re sure of!”  The curator softly speaks as the gurney passes by on the opposite side of the glass.  “In a week or so… Her new face will match the rest of her re-sculptured body.”  Glancing toward Kathy, she adds.  “She’s going to look like she’s her daughter’s daughter…  Like you!”  Without as much as a smile she adds.  “Really!... A lot like you!”

       Shaking her head, watching the gurney rolled out the swinging door, Kathy glances toward Craig.  “She’s going to look like that going on sixty?... My God!”

       “You should see her husband!”  Craig grins.  “He’s older then her… Already had his latest reconstruction completed before she began hers.”

       “Yes… He chose quite a body this time… Spared no expense!”  The curator smiles.  “I got to help him with his pre-op… Even helped choose the most vital part… If you know what I mean.”  Glancing toward the empty operating room, flipping the switch as the curtains closes, she adds.  “Yes… I know what you’re wondering… And yes… Like I said it works quite well… I know… I assisted with its initial functions.”  Staring toward Kathy, she adds.  “After all we need to satisfy our clients with what it costs them… Make sure everything’s in proper operating condition before they’re discharged.”

       “What does it all cost anyway?”  Kathy asks, glancing toward the curator.

       “Oh… We make different type deals with our clients.”  The curator smiles as she glances toward Craig.  “Like we just did with Craig today for his next re-sculpture… Just a couple miner reconstructions for him this time.”

       Craig stepping toward the door turns and stares toward Kathy as he hits the button, opening the door.  An empty gurney being rolled in, two muscular orderlies, one front with the other in the rear are followed by another with a syringe in hand.  Kathy glancing toward the door, eyeing the empty gurney with cuffs strapped to the four corners, she hesitantly steps back as she feels her body spin around, being shoved by the curator toward the orderly lifting the syringe.  The needle jabbing into her arm, the stinging pain instantly spreading like a warm ripple, she slumps, held up on both sides by the orderly and curator.

       Dazed, groggy, she feels herself being laid back across the flat surface, her wrists, ankles fastened to the leather collars as her clothes are being cut away by the orderlies with scissors.  Staring toward the ceiling, seeing the curator’s face leaning above her, she hears her voice, almost a whisper above the snips.  “Craig has paid us with you!... Yes… you see… He’s received our services before… And paid us the same way… After all… Where do you think we get our body parts for our clients?... Where do you think the client you just saw in the operating room… Is getting her new face?”      

End Part 1