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         

         

       

       

       

        

       

         

        

       

                    

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