Control
The first needle was the hardest. Though she was unconscious, the slow rise and fall of her chest made the need for precision absolutely critical. If I pushed too hard, I could easily shred her left atria. If I didn't push hard enough, my delicate and depraved process wouldn't be adequate to disrupt her pacemaker completely. Using an ultrasound machine, and years of study of the human heart, I was able to painstakingly pierce her atrioventricular node successfully. The needle pulsed slowly in time with her each contraction of her heart muscle.
After that I was able to smoothly slide the other 7 needles into their respective nodes. Navigating her ribs and her ample breasts made the work difficult, but patience is something I had an abundance of. I was finally in possession of a young woman with a beautiful, albeit defective heart, and I had no intention of squandering that gift. Jennifer came into my office a few days ago, a vivacious red headed thing with perfect 36C breasts and a dazzling smile. She had been traveling abroad, taking a summer off from University to travel the country. She had complained of chest pain during a recent hike and had stopped into the office for an examination. After troubling results from a holter monitor, I undertook a full ultrasound of her beautiful chest. I'll remember that day for the rest of life. As I slid the slick wand she quivered slightly as the gel danced around her left breast. I could not believe my eyes that a young woman as fit as her could have such a weak and diseased heart. Her left ventricle squeezed lazily with every pump, her valves hesitated with every breath she took. Her ejection fraction was no more than 30 percent, her heart was slowly dying within that beautiful chest of hers.
How long have you been having symptoms I asked, still entranced by the image of her failing heart pumping away on the ultrasound. She said she had been having chest pains and trouble breathing off and on for years, but she ignored it as she pursued a high pressure career. Stress, lack of rest, and a poor diet had slowly ravaged a heart that was in desperate need of intervention years ago.
As I finished wiring up her chest, I intubated her and flooded oxygen into her quivering lungs. She was finally ready. I took a step back to admire my handiwork, she was naked, splayed out, her arms and legs bound. I secured her head as the hiss of the ventilator metered the needs of her dying heart perfectly. The needles inserted in her heart swayed silently with every beat. Electrodes dotted her chest as an EKG read out a stable 60 BPM. I taped her eyes closed, she was nothing more than a vessel for a heart I was determined to ravage until it quivered uselessly in her chest.
I sat down at the machine, dialing in the first test. A simple stress test. She jerked slightly as a fed electricity directly into her pump, circumventing her pacemaker completely. Her heart rate dropped to 40 BPM. I walked around her, cupping her breasts and palpating her heart. I dug my hands between her tits and pushed, feeling her heart react slightly to the pressure, falling to 36 BPM before rising back to the stable 40 I had dialed in. She grunted slightly, gasping.
She was ready.
I dialed in 140 BPM.
She jerked against the restraints as she felt tingle of electricity dance in her chest. The ventilator kicked in to match as her heart began to race. She pulled against her bindings, her head moving ever so slightly as if every fiber of her being was trying to get away from this torture. Her lungs expanded faster and faster as sweat quickly poured over her.
The EKG read 140 BPM and I examined my patient. I took my hands and danced around her chest, feeling each agonizing pump of a heart pushed beyond its limits. 140 should be fine for a woman her age, but her heart was so damaged, that it felt as if she was running a marathon for hours on end. She gasped under her mask, trying to suck more air into lungs that could barely fill as fluid began to fill them. I was causing cardiac arrest. The idea of driving this beautiful woman into cardiac arrest filled me with pleasure unending as I took out my stethoscope to listen to her heart.
Squeezing, pumping, I could practically feel her engorged heart becoming overwhelmed with stress. Her aorta was swollen with blood as her ventricles desperately tried to move the oxygen she so desperately needed. The needles seized as her blood pressure sky rocketed. I flooded her with more oxygen, buying her more time as her heart stumbled but recovered, continuing its torrid pace.
For 10 minutes I watched as she tried to reach equilibrium, her head desperately trying to tell her heart to slow down. I fondled her breasts, and ran my hand across a body now soaked in sweat. I felt her heart kick in my hands as I pushed down on her chest. I felt her arteries and reveled in the damage I was doing to her heart. Patience however, was required.
I sat down again at the terminal and dialed in 60 BPM. She gasped for air as her heart abruptly slowed down. She drank in air as the ventilator squeezed as much oxygen as it could into her chest.
The first test was a success.
