[andmybody2surgeons]

Surgical Correction - Part Five

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

18,000~ words. Tags: medical fetish, gyno fetish, glove fetish, kidnapping, abduction, surgery fetish, forced surgery, latex, orgy, torture, needles, blood, non-con, virgin patient, hymen surgery, surgical defloration

Content Warning: Sexual violence, descriptions of surgery. It gets dark.

Neurosurgery conjures up the grainy, black and white imagery of a shadowy operating theatre in some insane asylum, a patient in a straightjacket—bound by straps and buckles to the table—surrounded by the ghoulish surgeons who dwell within. Featureless behind their masks and ghostly white gowns they are imposing and their hands and wrists sheathed in dark latex rubber have a sickly sheen to them, adding a certain menace to it all. One surgeon holds a trepan—a hand-operated drill from back then to bust through the skull—the others hold syringes or scalpels and sharp picks or even nothing at all; they are there during the procedure simply to hold the patient still while the doctor works. The patient will be awake and conscious whilst undergoing the leucotomy. They might protest but their frantic pleas will not stop or slow the surgeons—they might be admonished, told that the doctor knows what's best for their health and to quiet down, or they might be ignored altogether, regarded only as tissue, nerves and bone to experiment on, decidedly not human because something is wrong with their heads. Or the surgeons may opt to attempt to access the brain with steel rods inserted through the patient's eye sockets, psychosurgery by another name. Lobotomy.

Modern neurosurgery for mental disorder (NMD) is different in surgical technique and more precise in instrumentation. They use electrical probes and radiation imaging and computer accuracy now. But they are still cutting into, targeting, and destroying parts of the brain they consider problem areas. Its effectiveness (and the ethics behind it) is argued for and against by health professionals and government officials as well but as always, more data is needed. Two things are agreed upon and certain, however: it changes a person's behaviour, and the changes are irreversible.

There are six days until Rylan's scheduled psychosurgery.

BACK TO PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR

[MORE BELOW THE CUT...]

Ana has no problem with the science behind the procedure—it's the reason behind the surgery that's the issue... it's unclear if Rylan needs it, but Doctor Lillian insists that she does and, she is quick (almost smug) to remind her, Rylan is legally not allowed to refuse treatment. She belongs to Doctor Lillian in no uncertain terms, and the doctor likes to play with her toys. This surgery will be just another item in a long list of violations visited upon her body under the guise of compassionate psychiatric care.

Ana leaves Doctor Shen a handscribbled sticky note every morning counting down the days left until the surgery when she passes by the door of his office on her way to the psych ward on the other side of campus. She goes out of her way to do this, peddling furiously her bike through the university's many plazas and knolls for students to go and hang out at between classes during the day, in as direct a route to and from the hospital as she can manage. She weaves around groups of young people, showering their picnic blankets and backs and necks with grass and dirt as her rear wheel digs into the muddy flowerbeds and she is screamed at often to slow the hell down. Now more than ever she spends most of her time at Lillian's ward, worrying what might happen when she's not present, watching over Lillian's shoulder as that woman discovered new and inventive ways to torture and humiliate the poor girl.

If he's in his office Shen catches her on her way out of the building and crumples up her sticky note and tosses it at her head. It plinks off her bike helmet and he says, "Working on it."

"Work faster."

"A watched pot, Ana. So... back the fuck off, okay? Thanks."

He was deep in talks, he assures her every time she asks. The director is aware of the Rylan situation and they're discussing their options. Now was a time for caution, is all.

"He hates me," she says. "Does he hate me?"

"You're no longer his favourite, no."

When she gets to two days left, she has news for Shen—a stunning new development maybe the director would wanna hear.

She's coming back from an impromptu coffee date she'd been asked to by—surprise—Lillian herself. Ana had readied herself for a dirty, spiked-bat kind of fight because she felt personally ambushed but Lillian started out with an apology. They sat outside (it was quaint) on the street corner, drank dark roast and munched on sugar-dusted blueberry danishes—Lillian's treat. She apologized for how strained their professional relationship has become. She felt she had sprung the surgery on Ana, and she knows how important Rylan's appearance in the upcoming university hockey championship was to be. Not sorry enough to cancel the surgery altogether, but she acknowledged it steamrolled over Ana's sport psychology study if her subject didn't actually get out there and, y'know, do sports. She said she still believed the NMD procedure was the right step for Rylan in the long run, it would lead to greater success and contentedness later on in life, and she would never send her back out onto the ice in her current condition because it would be irresponsible as a medical practitioner. Ana made a noise (it could have been interpreted as a hum of agreement, or a derisive grunt), her mouth full of pastry.

"Let me make it up to you," Lillian said.

Ana swallowed but kept her mouth shut. She was a little curious, too much to even feign politeness and turn her down right off.

"There's a private event happening tonight that a very dear girlfriend of mine is hosting—a fundraiser. It all goes to charity, but it's mostly an excuse for some wealthy, influential people to schmooze and shake hands, have too much champagne and stay up too late to function correctly the next morning. I would love to bring you as my plus one. You could kick back and simply enjoy the open bar and the pleasure of my company, or if you'd like you could go and represent your research firm—or yourself—and no doubt find plenty of interested ears in your work tonight. Please say you'll come." Lillian added, "Your seat will of course be covered by me."

"In that case I'd love to." Ana chuckled. "Sure."

Lillian smiled at her. "Thank you, Ana. I mean that. You know, I'll admit I did want you by my side so I could show you off to all my friends."

"Like a toy poodle."

"No, that's not—"

"I'm kidding."

"You see, I've read almost all of your published papers now. I started the night we met and I couldn't put them down—like a good book. Just fascinating, brilliant stuff. Really. In fact there'll be people there who I frequently work with who I'm sure will be more than pleased to make your acquaintance. If you do go strictly to fish for business they'd be lucky to end up on your line."

"Tell you what. You help me reel in a whale or two—" Ana lifted her coffee cup. "—and keep feeding me treats, I'll jump through just about any damn hoop you want to put in front of me."

Lillian laughed. "Deal."

"This is a trap," Shen tells Ana.

"Without a doubt."

Shen ushers Ana into his office and Ana says, "Lillian sent me a rough guest list—if I wanted to rep the Institute and zero in on one or more of these guys. Headhunt, attract as investors, whatever. Any of them jump out at you? As members?" She hands Shen her phone and sits in his chair. They are certainly the upper crust as well as people Ana has never even heard of, but the ones she does recognize are lawmakers, public officials, and businessmen and women.

Shen glances up. "Yeah. At least two of these guys we have pictures of. Doesn't necessarily mean they're members of the Summer Orchestra, but this is a pattern. For a private event, these two ending up in the same room together is odd. Completely different professions and no personal ties either."

"They don't go hit the links on weekends? Pass around the same escorts? Maybe they've got the same VDs."

"Do you know who's hosting this thing?"

Ana shakes her head. "I don't even know where it is. Lillian's going to send a car."

Shen gives her a stare. "And you're still going to do this?"

"I'm running out of time, Shen. Nothing I can say will persuade her not to cut Rylan's head open—she won't be challenged or admit she's wrong on this. So maybe she'll do it for me as a personal favour—delay the surgery at least, give us more time to think—if I get on my knees and tongue enough ass, maybe show some boob while I'm at it... treat her like a priest. I'm not going to have another opportunity to ingratiate myself to Lillian."

"If she knows what you really do—"

"I won't let my drink out of my sight. Dad."

"Why is she giving you access to these people? It doesn't make sense. If she's part of the Orchestra, she wants to destroy us. Even if you rubbed shoulders until they bled, they won't work with the Institute—they're not allowed. They're just bait, Ana."

"Are you going to show the director that list?"

"I'm going to have to."

"He'll tell you I should go. You two are all about cost/benefit, right? Risk versus reward?"

"Why the hell would you want to walk into this? —Knowingly?"

"You and the director have been discussing what to do with Rylan for four, five days? Where are you now? What's your amazing plan you're putting together?"

Shen says nothing. Ana has a suspicion that she's right. It came down to money. No matter the work that went into Rylan, the director didn't care enough to spend more time or resources on saving her from a forced brain surgery. She'd be written off as a failed experiment and the Institute would wash its hands of her. Ana would be moved onto a new project (if not dismissed entirely) and they would remain in the safety of the shadows while the Summer Orchestra completed its political takeover and starved them out. They're under siege.

"I care about her, Shen. If we get nothing else out of this, I'm going to try to get her back. You know I'm going to try."

#

A car shows up at 8 o'clock in the evening outside of Ana's residence. She makes her way down the steps to the curb in her high heels. Her dress is graphic-patterned with leafy plums and exotic-looking flowers, her short leather gloves a radiant cyan colour. When the driver steps out and opens the door for her, Lillian is there in the backseat. She is dressed in a silk purple evening gown and gracefully long, shiny black leather gloves. She has grey fur draped around her shoulders and holds a monogrammed wallet-style purse. She extends a hand as Ana climbs in and touches the material of her dress. She tells Ana she looks absolutely gorgeous. Ana tells her the same and can't help but blush when she says it.

They drive up the block and Lillian produces a scarf from her purse. She folds it a few times and tells Ana she needs to blindfold her. Ana is incredulous but eventually relents. Lillian tells her to turn around. Glasses. Ana takes them off and holds them in her hands as Lillian ties off the scarf, covering her eyes. "Not too tight?"

Ana shakes her head.

"Good. It's kind of a ways out of the city. Do you want some water? Or a snack?"

"I'll be fine."

"If you're sure. All you have to do is ask."

They drive for about fifty minutes. Lillian's friend lives a little bit up the coast. There's a ballgame happening on the radio. The car gets off the highway and Ana hears less traffic now. The road winds a little more. Ana carries a bottle of mace spray in her purse and her hand inches towards the zipper when the car slows to a stop. Lillian tells the driver here is fine—we'll walk up to the house. Ana reaches up and pulls down her blindfold before Lillian can do it herself and quickly looks around. The road is fairly well lit, although forlorn in that suburban sort of way. As if she senses Ana's trepidation, Lillian simply exits the car and waits for Ana to do the same. 

The warm, night air smells like bonfire, and the sound of waves carry far. The houses Ana can see are shrouded by shrubs and Pacific North West evergreens and they're upscale, designer buildings and when Lillian points out where they're headed, Ana gawks. They start down a lamp-lined stone pathway leading them to the house that sits on the bay but the place looks more like a fishing lodge with dozens of rooms and windows everywhere. The lights dotting the grounds and on the exterior of the house show off its rustic beams, log-cabin sidings and masonwork everywhere else. 

There are other houses farther down the shore and these too are big and lit up. Showy. There are guests on the pathway in their formalwear making their way down they follow, and Lillian nods hello to some men and women who lean against the wooden fence with cigarettes in one hand and highball cocktail glasses in the other. Ana looks past them into the bay that's illuminated by a number of boats scattered all over the water or lazily coming in to dock at the house's pier, ferrying attending guests from god knows where. Bigger boats off the coast? From the harbour in the city? Only now does Ana begin to think this gathering might be a big deal.

"How do you know the host again? Your friend, I mean," Ana asks Lillian as they approach the front door. There are greeters and even a bouncer-looking motherfucker checking names on a list.

"We shared a dorm room together back in college. She always loved to party. Didn't matter if it was raunchy solo cups with the boys in the front lawns of the Greeks, or some swanky old soiree. Believe me when I say this could well be a bit of both."

"You warned me about the dress code," Ana says, glancing down at her dress and gloves, "but I'm going to assume then this is closer to the latter."

There is a faint hint of a smile on Lillian's lips but she doesn't say anything more.

Inside, the earthy tones of the house seem to overwhelm all the body's senses and pull you in. There's a fire in the hearth, a jazz pianist on the Petrof, and servers moving around the massive room topping off wineglasses. On one side there's an incredible view of the back lot: the patio area, the rocky shoreline and the dark water of the bay. Outside that, massive tanker ships loom and light up their own silhouettes on the horizon. Lillian lifts two drinks from the first tray that comes by and hands one off to Ana before showing her around. When she introduces her to guests she starts with the hostess of the party (a pleasant enough, done-up woman) but this is all smalltalk and catching up between friends. She is a socialite, and that's all she is. Lillian then points out to Ana who they should meet with next as she spies potentially important figures from across the room. Lillian gives her something of a scouting report before bringing her over. Her surgical research for the Institute (the publicly released stuff anyway) speaks for itself and Ana impresses. Lillian tells her she's doing amazing.

After a few hours, Ana and Lillian sit at the bar to rest their heels. Ana tries again to persuade Lillian to hold off on subjecting Rylan to psychosurgery. She brings up her other treatments worthy of trying first. She makes a strong case and Lillian says she'll think about it. If Rylan is forced to undergo the procedure after all, Ana would like to convince Lillian to do the least amount of damage and in the safest way. If she decides to be too experimental, Ana worries that something might just "go wrong." She believes a botched surgery means next to nothing to Lillian and she wonders what sort of treatments Lillian tried on Misty Vega to put her in her current state. All of this nicety aside, the fancy dresses and luxurious atmosphere, this is supposedly a gathering for (or at least paid for by) political operatives. That was the bottom line. There was a link between them and Lillian Peeters, and whatever she was doing to young women in her ward. There was no telling who was a member of the Summer Orchestra except for the faces Shen had identified earlier. They were here too and Ana had spoken with them briefly, although they had little interest in science. They took their dates (young, young women) elsewhere with their drinks to be alone.

They weren't the only ones who had disappeared over the course of the evening. Ana had watched as the main area of the house became less crowded, less boisterous, the way a party winds down. But Ana is certain she hasn't seen anyone actually leaving or saying their goodbyes. She's seen more guests heading upstairs, coming back to the bar, then making themselves scarce again. It's here where the night begins to reveal itself.

When Lillian leaves her alone for a little bit, she witnesses a woman approach a man in the lounge area, drape her long arms around his shoulders and whisper something into his ear. When he stands, he throws back his drink and grins to his buddies and she leads him by the hand up the stairs like somebody just bought him a dance. Now Ana is too curious not to follow. She crosses the room and pads up the stairs. There are a few floors to this house and down a hallway on the second Ana sees the pair head into a room and shut the door. Before they do this, though, Ana sees her plunge a hand down the front of his pants to grab hold of something and she tugs him in the direction she wants. Ana steps close to the door and hears his voice on the other side, low and murmuring.

She hears other voices from down the hallway, from other rooms. Laughs and giggles. Moans from both women and men. A muffled scream that turns into an excited gasp. Begging and whimpering. She's startled when a champagne cork goes off like a shot and people whoop. Ana realizes she's shaking with adrenaline, feeling a little dizzy. Some doors are cracked open ajar and light flits out into the darkened hall, some are thrown wide open. She can't help but glance into the first room she walks past. A man stands naked at the foot of a bed, back facing the door. A woman steps behind him and slaps handcuffs onto his wrists. She asks if they're too tight and he shakes his head. She walks around and inspects him, reaching down and playfully squeezing his butt. She has a seat on the edge of the bed and spreads open her legs, holds her dress out of the way and pushes the crotch of her underwear aside. She tells him to come and give her a kiss. As he sinks to his knees and buries his face in her crotch she notices Ana standing in the hallway and she motions for her to join them. Ana almost trips over her own feet to take a step back, pretending she didn't see and moving on. She had suspected what kind of party this fundraiser would turn out to be, as did Shen, and he told her for good measure: "Don't do whatever's the female equivalent of sticking your dick in anything while you're there. Just assume there are cameras. Or that they want to kill you."

But he didn't say she couldn't look—she was scoping the place out, is all.

She wanders by the other rooms. Those with the open doors seemed to be disorganized free-for-alls with all manner of different combinations of participants. All or mostly naked, in various positions. Clothes and half empty liquor bottles litter the floors of each. It was in the rooms with only a gap in their doors farther down that things got a little more interesting, a lot more perverse. She discovers this when she rounds a corner and nearly walks into a woman here. Ana almost apologizes when she notices she has her dress hiked up to her thighs and a hand inside her panties between her legs while she peeps through the crack in the door. The woman glances at Ana and smiles, beckoning for her to come and watch beside her.

There’s a girl in this room, arms tied to the chair by the wrists, gagged. A woman circles, inspecting her. She takes slow, deliberate steps and the girl watches her every movement. Her shiny latex gloves creak when she reaches out and takes her face into her hand, traces her lips with her thumb. Standing behind her, she slips a hand down the front of her shirt and takes her time feeling both breasts. She shushes the girl when she jerks away and grunts, trying to turn from her. She unbuttons the girl's shirt slowly, reveling in the gasps of anticipation that come with each loosened clasp. She runs her gloved finger down the girl's sternum, stroking her collarbone with her nail, before having a look at her bra. It's very cute, she says, but it's just getting in the way of our fun. She pulls down the bra, freeing the girl's breasts to play with. She tells her she has such pretty pink little nipples and then takes one into her mouth. The girl whimpers.

Ana feels the woman watching alongside her suddenly take her by the hand and give her a gentle tug, leading her away. She wants to show her down the rest of the hallway.

The next rooms, more costumes. More fantasies being played out. There are pink rubber nurses, a group of men in ski masks and a struggling, screaming, grinning woman tied down on the bed, nuns both on their knees and standing tall with a Sunday school switch clutched in their hands. A woman halfway under the covers, quietly masturbating while an older, square-jawed man sits next to her on the edge of the bed ignoring her, just reading his newspaper with his jacket off and tie loosened, a lit cigarette and an Old Fashioned in hand. And then a petite, twenty-something schoolgirl and three posh-looking ladies fawning over her like she were a prized pekingese... they stroke her hair with their satin gloves and make her sit on their laps and order her to give them hugs and kisses, coaxing and forcing her when she hesitates, first on the cheeks then later on the lips. They put their tongues in her mouth and feel her up, touching her all over her nervous and quivering body. She's light enough they can pick her up and lay her down on the bed. They take the hem of her skirt in their hands and get a better view of her thighs and knees and frilly socks around her ankles, subtly nudging her legs apart but she doesn't want them to. One of the women puts a hand over her thumping chest and asks if she's a little frightened. She tells her that Mommy will give her just a big sip of her wine so she's more cooperative for them. When they kiss and lick her inner thighs and labia they ask her how it feels. They say her little pussy tastes sweet and sticky, like strawberries.

There is suddenly a hand on Ana's upper arm—or something like it. It's completely smooth but rubbery and she whirls around. She comes face to face with a ghostly reflection of her own surprised expression seemingly emerging from the darkness of the hallway. Light glints off a tall, shiny body allowing Ana to make out a womanish figure standing over her sealed from head to toe in a dark latex catsuit and gas mask. There are two of them that have snuck up on her with the second one in a slightly different mask but it’s still just as unnerving. They have cut off any escape. They say nothing, only take their muffled breaths and study Ana.

But Ana doesn't try to leave. She's waiting to see what they do. They both step closer and Ana backs up until she feels the wall behind her. The one in front of her raises its hands and places them against the wall on either side of Ana's head. She is trapped staring into those reflective lenses just inches away at herself. With no hint of who it is behind those masks they have no faces, not really. They are nothing resembling human; they are coldly dead-eyed and snouted. Long limbed and almost unnaturally so, the black rubbered figures move in a stiff, deliberate way like store mannequins or dolls. It terrifies her. It makes her shiver. It excites her. All she can hear is the creak of their latex suits.

The one in front brings its body closer to Ana's and something pokes her in the belly. She glances down to see the thing's strapped-on rubber cock pressing against her. It's stiff and imposing and its owner wants Ana to take in the sight of it. Both of these rubber creatures have to know how unsettling they look. They play it up. The second one reaches in very slowly for the hem of Ana's dress and Ana lets it push it up above her thighs. She feels rubber gloved finger tips on her sweaty skin, circling around her thigh to trace the bumpy outline of her pussy lips poking out through the crotch of her underwear, playfully groping her. The first takes Ana’s leather-gloved hand, inspecting it briefly, then guides her to its cock. Ana grips the rubber shaft. In their own way they are inviting her to initiate whatever comes next. Her hallway companion has even turned her attention to whatever is unfolding right next to her, eyeing her the same way she watched those women inside the room.

If Lillian didn't show up when she does, Ana isn't sure what would have happened. She never imagined herself in this situation and couldn't explain why she felt the way she did. But Lillian appears behind the two latex-suited women and Ana immediately slaps the gently exploring, rubber gloved hand away.

"Should I come back?" Lillian asks. There's a faint smile on her face.

"I was looking for you."

"I see that."

Ana looks embarrassed, still wedged between these two. Neither she nor Lillian stare at the rubber cock dangling out in the middle of everything. It was now obscene and awkward.

"Do you want to come with me?" Lillian said. "I have something to show you. But if you'd like, it can wait."

"I'm good."

Lillian patted the two women on their backs and told them to keep moving, like she was shooing away two simple-minded creatures. At first it looked like they wouldn't budge, and they were menacing like this, but almost as if something clicked, recognition of Lillian took hold and they stepped away from Ana. Wordless, again. They turned to the woman Ana met in the hallway, the confused voyeur, and took hold of her by the arms and wrists. Almost violently dragging her away into the dark like demons. The woman has to pause to yank up her underwear but there are no complaints from her about where they're going.

Lillian looks amused. She says to Ana, "Shall we?"

"Lead the way." While Lillian walks ahead of her, Ana fixes her hair and her dress.

"Not your kink?"

"Too early to say."

"I like you," Lillian says with a laugh.

"Look, you said this place might get a little wild. Orgy is a whole other thing. Still getting my head around it."

"When in Rome, my dear. Are you sure you don't want me to call them back? They seemed just as disappointed as you."

"What did you want to show me? I appreciate you introducing me to all these people, but if the rest of the night is just this... I think I'm done rubbing shoulders for today. And glad to have done it when they were all... y'know, not naked."

"I admit I specifically left tonight's 'festivities' out of my big sell to get you to come out here. If you're feeling uncomfortable, I do apologize. There's just one favour I'd like to ask of you."

"You want me to blow someone."

"No." Lillian chuckles. "It's something both in your wheelhouse, and something not. In both of our wheelhouses, actually. We need your particular skillset... as a doctor."

"Go on."

"Used in an erotic setting."

"And nobody's blowing anybody? What kind of orgy is this?"

"It's a bondage and sadomasochism scene with a medical flavour."

"If it's all pretend anyway, why don't you get an actual dominatrix to do it?" Ana jerks a thumb over her shoulder. "There are a few ladies back there who seemed to know what they were doing."

"Not the same. It would be better if we had someone with a bit of experience, and not the 'play' kind either."

"Okay, what the hell is going on here? Because this all sounds sketchy as shit."

Lillian takes a deep breath before answering her. "No surprise, but there are guests here that like a little more exotic offerings than what you see upstairs. More extreme ways to get themselves off, if you know what I mean."

"I really don't."

"It's usually a spectacle they put on. Costumes, props, everything. Theatre of a sort. But the pain is real, and most of all, desired. And sometimes there's no pain at all. There's a guest with desires here who could prove to be very, very valuable to not just the charity but in terms of opportunities. Connections."

"So you want me to do what, stick needles in his balls because... that's what friends are for?"

"She, not he. And, well... yes. Anytime these people throw a party like this, it's all a show. You know this. It's who can get who together in the same room at a time and these people want you. Believe it or not, at this moment you are somebody. Doubtless your work at the Institute has been pored over by department heads by now and they've called their bosses in the last couple of hours to say you're the real deal. If you come with me downstairs, you will be inside one such room whose doors may only open to you once. But once you're in, you are in—in every sense of the word. Consider this an audition."

"So it's an initiation killing. Before I wear their colours I gotta bloody my hands so all of us are in this together? Show that I'm one of them?"

"In as many words. But nobody is killing anybody. And it's nothing illegal. Let's be clear."

"But let me guess. It'll be recorded, and you'll hold it over my head anytime I don't want to play nice because it's a contract. Honest question, Lillian: do you think I'm stupid?"

"Excuse me?"

Ana breaks off, heading for the entrance of the mansion.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to call a cab."

"Ana, please don't. Ana!"

Ana marches out onto the driveway and stares at her phone. Lillian comes out after her, lingering by the door. Ana says, "Give me the damn address, Lillian."

"I'll hold off on Rylan's surgery."

She's speechless for a moment. Then, "You're going to hold that girl's brain functions hostage over this? What's the matter with you people?"

"Rylan's treatment is important. On that we agree. I may be wrong, but I may be right. It's a difference of opinion, and I'll admit that I've been opportunistic with her. She shouldn't be a guinea pig but I genuinely think there's trauma there that needs to be treated. Sometimes it's not pretty. And if I'm taking her hostage, like you say, then that's how big of a deal this is to me. I'm only trying to help you. It's in both of our best interests. If it's your career you're worried about, the very last thing I want to see is you ruining your reputation. You, your name, everything, will be protected. I'll make sure of it."

Ana thinks for a while. Lillian is dangling the only thing she wants in front of her. In return for something, she isn't sure what, she is assured is a harmless little show. Again for someone to flex their muscles and demonstrate that they had Ana's talent at their disposal to a select few people because they could make her do anything they wanted. They could make her do this. Participate in some hedonistic display. And how much does she even trust Lillian to keep her word? It's whoring yourself out, she can't help but feel. But it's for someone who shouldn't even be in this mess to begin with. So she agrees.

Lillian says she's grateful and leads her back to the party. She asks Ana if she'd like another drink before they go down, but Ana just wants to get this over with. They head downstairs.

Downstairs is another lounge. No, a parlour. Exposed brick work, another bar, couches and coffee tables. They are offered things in the doorway to help conceal their identities. Most guests down here choose to wear them. Only a select few with outrageous amounts of fuck-you money, who you never crossed ever, chose to go in with their identities out in the open. Because in here, people could be ruined if photos got out. The guests chat at the bar or on couches, or play card games and are surrounded by all sorts of mostly topless, or mostly bottomless women and men. They wear identifying ribbons to denote that they are here for the guests' pleasure, to be bought for the evening like an escort. Although with the way they are dressed and the vibe of the room, probably more like a sexual slave. They follow their owners around and are shown off and touched. It recalls Rome.

Ana and Lillian opt for disposable surgical masks over the usual intricate masquerade masks. Ana barely gets the loops over her ears before reaching the far side of the room, a set of double doors and a queue. Lillian has not even bothered to put hers on, simply holding it over her face as she walks in case there are any prying cameras. She is known to the attendant here, and he opens the doors for them. Ana notices that the lights in the parlour dim for a moment, and guests stand and head towards the doors. Like the lobby of a theatre, the show is about to begin. Once inside, the guests are directed one way, but Lillian and Ana head the other.

Lillian explains that it costs guests an entry fee and they are allowed to bring in a plus one from the lounge outside as long as they paid for a second seat to watch the proceedings. All of the fees go towards the charity. When Lillian reveals the cost of a seat in this room, Ana can't believe what she hears. Feels like she needs to laugh or sit down. But it was as Lillian said... doors to a room that may never be open to the likes of her again.

They enter what looks like a prep room adjoining a surgical suite. Definitely not a new facility. Wood paneled in some places and an old stained and rusty hospital sink. In a cubby are folded disposable blue surgical gowns, caps and tie-up surgical masks.

"Not your average dominatrix gear," Lillian says with a smile.

Ana takes off her leather gloves and puts them on a table. "Shoes on or off?"

Lillian glances at her feet. Ana's wearing high heeled pumps, Lillian in leather boots. "Definitely on."

She and Lillian do up their caps and masks and wash their hands out of habit, getting all the dirt out from under their nails and lathering up their forearms. And then they help each other gown.

"I told you your identity would be protected."

Ana looks at the mirror. Her blonde hair is tucked completely into her cap, and only her eyes and glasses show. Her mask hides her face, the gown her body. She is vaguely female at a glance. Still, she is Doctor Ana Praszky. She has always looked like this.

"And we take leaks pretty seriously," Lillian says.

"Tell me this isn't all just a big practical joke."

"It's very much not."

"I have no idea what I'm doing here."

"Just follow my instructions. I'll get you through this. But I have a feeling you'll be much more at home here than you think."

What does she mean by this? Before Ana can ask, Lillian heads through the doors, hands raised and kept as clean as possible. Ana follows, doing the same. It's dark and she can only see Lillian's ghostly figure from behind. The room quickly reveals itself when a retro-looking operating lamp switches on.

The operating theatre they enter has been constructed this way, or was seemingly lifted from out of history, or perhaps has always existed under this mansion like a dark secret. The floor is tiled, the seats and benches that rise up all around them are wood, and the design is of a teaching hospital from the Victorian era. Where young doctors would normally sit and observe dissections and even vivisections are filled with the glittery and black-eyed masked faces of the guests and their companions, a few dozen men and women just spectating from their shadowy seats. Their eyes are on the surgeons Lillian and Ana and their patient on the retro-looking operating table. There's already a person here dressed in surgical scrubs and a mask and cap. Ana sees just her red hair from behind, and when she turns she recognizes Nurse Specialist Jane from the hospital. She's already got an IV line into the arm of the patient and she welcomes Ana in.

When Ana steps closer to the operating table, she notices that the patient is a young woman, judging by her petite body. Her face—rather, her entire head—is covered by a black gas mask like the ones Ana had encountered earlier. Her eyes are two glassy, impenetrable lenses, the rest of her face an alien nose and mouth. She has a couple of brown braids that just stick out under the mask and rest on her pronounced collarbones, and she wears a pretty, white little dress. Her arms and hands are secured in a T-pose, belt strapped across her midsection, and legs tied into stirrups in lithotomy position. Whatever they have in store for her, she is ready for the doctors.

Lillian offers her a seat on the stool between the patient's legs. When she sits she notices a film projector displaying a running feed of a camera pointed over her shoulder between the patient's legs. Nurse Jane selects the right sized surgical gloves for the two doctors and helps Lillian and Ana put them on. As Ana plunges one hand and the other into the held-open gloves, she tries to see what Lillian has on her instrument stand but her back is to them. When Ana's gloves are on, Lillian joins Ana by the patient and Jane takes her place next to the mayo stand.

"We should do a preliminary assessment of the patient," Lillian suggests. She passes a pair of shears to Ana and tells her to take off her dress.

Ana gets to work, snipping from the bottom near her thigh. When the metal makes contact with the girl's skin, she jolts and lets out a muffled cry. Like she has snapped out of a daze, now she tugs at her restraints. Ana continues cutting away her pretty dress and Jane and Lillian pull the shreds of shorn fabric from under the girl's body and dump them directly into a wastebin. She is left topless, her breasts and pale upper body overcome with goosebumps. Her bony chest heaves, the gas mask constricting every breath she takes. Then Ana cuts away her pair of underwear, passing it to Lillian to discard in the wastebin. 

Stripped naked, the patient stops moving around, as if trying her hardest to sink through the floor. Her nakedness embarrasses her. This puzzles Ana but she's heard of people who get turned on by being humiliated this way. Exposed in front of all these people silently enjoying her body and her vulnerability. Ana herself takes in the sight of all of her flesh almost stark white under the lamp. Lillian is right. It is a familiar view. Already she is lost in her skin and her curves, her thin limbs, her breasts and genitalia. She wants to know this stranger. She wants to discover and explore her and touch her and feel how she feels in her gloved hands. Hers is a fascination that isn't sexual, or at least she doesn't think so. She admires her anatomy.

"Why don’t you make your observations, Doctor?" Lillian tells her.

Ana begins, circling the table, not taking her eyes off the girl's body. "Patient is a young, caucasian female, aged 18-21 based on signs of post-pubertal development. Judging by breast size, coarse pubic stubble and appearance of the external genitalia, that is to say her more pronounced labia minora." Ana reaches out a hand and feels along the girl's sternum, pressing on her right breast slightly and feeling the tissue and fat. She notes any asymmetry between both breasts and says she's on the smaller side. Nipples... responsive—they're hard and pink and only seem to get harder the more she examines her chest and abdomen. A visible heartbeat through her skin. 

Slipping a finger under the neck of the latex gasmask she takes a measure of her pulse. Lillian and Jane stirred when she touched the mask, but Ana knew not to move it. The girl had an excitable, strong BPM count, felt only by Ana's fingertips pressing around her left breast. The nipples are pinched and declared free of discharge. Normal, but revealing about her current body chemistry. Flat tummy and no hard masses when palpated.

"Continuing with a recto-vaginal examination," she announces, but says more to herself than anything. She's already lost in her work.

She sits between the girl's legs. When she puts her thumbs and fingers on her vulva, the girl's toes curl. She conveys and points out this perceived anxiousness and discomfort from being touched to the room. Shyness, or past trauma she muses. She continues: clitoris, small. Tucked away under an ample hood. Hood can be retracted fully and clitoris exposed. Labia spread to reveal the introitus and—Ana pauses. She stares to make sure she's identifying what she sees correctly. "Hymen is intact. The patient is seemingly a virgin."

Now she hears murmurs from the audience. Amazement and excited whispers. Once more Ana is left puzzled, wondering why this girl even agreed to play the part of patient if she was inexperienced. Unless it was a religious or cultural thing, but with whatever's going on here, Ana has her doubts. It's possible she's a thrillseeker and simply enjoys non-penetrative sex. Or maybe that's just it... Lillian has brought Ana here for this reason. A minor surgery. A little cut. She can't help but think about that idea. It fascinates her mostly because it's something she's never done before. She supposes she will just have to wait and see.

She announces that because this girl is a virgin, they cannot proceed with a gynecological exam as a speculum simply will not be able to be inserted into her vagina. She holds open the girl's labia as wide as possible and catches a glimpse of the projection above clearly showing off the hymeneal perforation for everyone to see in crisp detail. Her little opening. She uses the finger tip of her glove to stroke and press on the pink membrane, feeling its thickness. It doesn't seem like it will be a problem—medical intervention and surgical correction would not be at all necessary. She is surprised at how disappointed she sounds making this deduction. 

She proceeds with her rectal examination, and after lubing her middle finger, firmly works it inside the girl's asshole. She notes her remarkable tightness and size, how smooth she feels. No signs of fissures or enlarged hemorrhoids around her anus—a good, healthy diet this one must have—just a pleasing little pink and pinched hole Ana can't help but compliment when she removes her finger and watches it shrink and tighten up. She even spreads apart the girl's buttocks so the camera has a good view of the rosy pink colour of it and the way the wrinkly puckered skin stretches out due to her manipulations to inspect it fully.

Jane is all ready to go with a new pair of surgical gloves for her. Ana pulls off the dirty one, turning it inside out in the process, then the other and tosses them both into the wastebin.

Lillian says to Ana, "This patient needs some piercings, so we're going to give them to her today. Who better to do it than a few trained medical professionals?"

Ana can't argue with that. She clasps her freshly sterile-gloved hands, not touching anything else that could contaminate them. Lillian brings her instrument stand in closer and Ana can finally make out what's arranged on it. A variety of metal rings and barbells in all sizes, pliers and grasping instruments like ring-tipped forceps, and an array of large-gauge needles and plastic cannulas, or sheaths. Ana has never given anyone piercings but Lillian assures her it's little different from any surgery Ana's done before. Requires a similar skillset. 

She hands Ana an antiseptic-soaked gauze held by forceps and instructs her to brush the patient's vulva. Ana does so, then spreads her vaginal lips to get at her urethral opening, her hymen, and finishes by dabbing around her anus and pushing slightly into her asshole. She hands it back to Lillian who drops the soiled gauze in the wastebin and sets the now-dirty forceps aside. It doesn't take long for the fluid to dry. Ana inspects it briefly and tells Lillian, "Let's begin."

Lillian adjusts the overhead light and hands Ana the ring-tipped forceps. She instructs her to locate a spot on the girl's upper right labia minora. When she tugs on the labia the girl’s anus clenches uncontrollably. Ana makes adjustments with Lillian pointing and telling her exactly where, and locks it in place. The skin here is thinner and doesn't require a large needle to puncture. Ana goes for it, pushing the needle point in one end and out through the other. The girl thrashes, shrieks, and tries to close her legs. Ana operates with precision, removing the needle so only the cannula remains. One end of the metal ring goes into the hollow end of the sheath, and Ana pulls it back the way it came in leaving only the ring its place. With pliers she closes up the ring with a fastener piece connecting the two ends so it stays in place. She leans back and she, Lillian, and Jane all pause to admire how it looks.

Her first genital piercing—both the girl and for Ana. The girl squirms on the table, still in obvious pain from something she's never experienced before. The audience seem to be enjoying themselves, pointing at the close-up projection of her vulva and anus and whispering things into the ears of their companions or friends. There are a couple of chuckles, lots of smiles. They know they are watching something special. A total first-timer, maybe who's never even been touched by someone down there before. Now she was being played with and her most intimate body parts shown off and seen in high definition. 

Ana doesn't think this is an act. Her skin is unblemished and not scarred, and not marked with tattoos. She is a "good girl" at a glance. Ana prepares the next needle and glances around. She wonders what would possess someone to want this. Someone with too much money, she thinks. But she admits the experience would be a memorable one. Might as well make it count.

Ana does the next piercing on the opposite side of the vagina, followed by two more a little bit lower making it two on each fold of her labia minora. Ana notices the girl has slumped in her restraints, barely reacting to the fourth piercing. She worries that she's passed out. 

Jane however simply leans over and delivers an open-palmed slap on the girl's sore pussy. Her legs jerk in the stirrups and she moans through her gas mask. Jane takes hold of the top two piercings and gives them a little tug. It looks painful for her. She gets all up in the girl’s gas mask and says, "Wake up. We're not finished with you, babe."

Lillian selects a slightly larger needle and pinches the girl's larger, outside labia majora feeling how meaty they are. Simple straight barbells for these. The same procedure all the way through, and Ana completes the task. One and then the other. Lillian smiles behind her mask and says she's looking good.

She asks what Jane thinks and she simply says, "Yum."

"What's next?" Ana says.

Lillian has a few more piercings she's picked out on her stand. She comes around to where Ana sits and studies the girl's genitalia. She consults with Jane and the two of them discuss three different terms: a Christina, a Princess Albertina, and a fourchette piercing. The latter is self-explanatory to Ana—a piercing that goes through the bottom of the vagina and out through the perineum. The Christina piercing is a L-shaped piercing that goes through where the labia meet near the clitoral hood and out just below the pubic mound, and the Princess Albertina through the urethra and out through the vagina. For some women it is not anatomically possible to receive all three of these piercings, and they are all a little more intensive than the previous ones. Ana suspects this is why they wanted her to be a part of this session.

They decide that a Christina piercing will work here, but between the others... Lillian places a pair of forceps against the girl's vulva, eyeballing the distance required considering her hymen that was getting in the way of everything. She goes a step further and recklessly inserts the tip of the forceps through the perforation, feeling around and locating where exactly the tip ends up with her gloved finger from the outside, how much space they have to work with once inside. The girl doesn't like the feeling of the instrument inside her and she struggles in place. Ana thinks she sees Lillian adjusting the forceps, opening the tips ever so slightly so it feels like she’s stretching out the small opening and creating a tear in her right here. The girl’s wrists and ankles strain because it hurts. Lillian eventually removes the forceps and determines that since the opening is closer to the urethra, they'll go with the Princess Albertina first but Jane thinks they should try for all three. The patient is completely at Lillian and Jane's mercy.

The patient is given a catheter first by Ana. Because the pain, Lillian says, is much more intense for this one. Next, the sensitive tissue around the urethral opening is grasped. The needle goes in and Ana ignores the patient's screams. Lillian holds the needle in place with forceps while Ana needs to get in as close as possible to reach through the hymeneal opening with a her own forceps to locate the exiting needle point. Very delicately, with deft, surgical hands she and Lillian work together to thread through the ring and attach the caps so it stays in place. Now it sounds like the patient is sobbing, but it's hard to tell. They wipe up the blood and Lillian and Ana get to work on the patient's Christina and fourchette piercings. These are easier to complete. Still painful looking, though. Pinching the skin above the clitoris and driving the needle through. Pinching the skin at the bottom of the vagina and giving her a ring. Jane said before this one if there’s not enough space (if her hymen protruded too far) they could pierce her asshole instead. Lillian waved her off, however.

Once done these two, Ana straightens out, allowing herself a break, wondering how much more this girl can possibly take. Lillian and Jane share pleased looks with each other, touching and admiring the girl's vulva that was now adorned with new jewellery.

Jane says they need to give her something for her pretty little titties. A few swipes with antiseptic fluid by her on both nipples and Ana stands and starts with her right breast. The nipple is already stiff when Ana clamps it with her forceps. In goes the needle, and when Lillian hands Ana the piercing, this one looks different than all of the others. Attached to the piercing is a metal tag with an engraving of a flower surrounded by vines on it. She pops it in and closes off the end. Upon closer inspection Ana stops what she's doing to stare. She recognizes the graphic but can't fathom why she knows it. It looks like a medieval sigil, an elegant design for a wax seal at the very least. And then Ana realizes. Doctor Shen has shown it to her before. In his report about the Summer Orchestra. It was an incommunicado sign off. A brand of ownership. Ana doesn't say anything, but when she glances at Lillian, she gets a chill because she's staring right back at her, waiting to see her reaction. Ana's certain the woman is smiling faintly behind her mask. Jane is as well, smiling like they have a nasty secret between them. If Ana pretended to not know what the symbol was, she wasn't fooling them. It’s this reaction from her they were looking for.

Lillian takes her time when she reaches up and pulls the gas mask off the patient. Underneath, the girl's mouth is gagged and taped over, her eyes squeezed shut and puffy-looking. When Ana places her face, she begins to feel ill. Like she needs to throw up. She moves to rip off the tape over the girl's mouth but Jane cuts her off, standing in her way. Jane produces a pair of glasses from her scrub shirt pocket and puts them on the girl's face. Lillian rests a hand on the girl's forehead and forces her to look at Ana.

"We caught this one snooping around, asking all kinds of questions about what's going on in my ward," Lillian says. "She says she has video proof of abuses perpetrated by myself and my staff. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Ana says nothing. They know each other, she and this poor patient.

They first met at a function held by the director of the Belgium Institute a year ago. She was 17 then and Ana spied her across the courtyard of some garden party, awkward and out of place, having been dragged along by her parents. She was the director's daughter, Sarah, and they'd been introduced briefly earlier in the evening. She was keeping to herself by a classical-looking fountain, nose in a book, and Ana dropped down on the bench beside her and kicked off her heels. 

Ana had tired of shaking hands and small-talking guests as the function was one of the more public-facing ones meant to make the university look good in the newsletters. To them Ana was just some academic. To Ana they were small-timers who donated to the university to get their names on buildings and wings. But when she spoke to the director's daughter, she was surprised by this young woman. She read deeply and spoke passionately, seemed a moral opposite of her father and their conversation made Ana unsure if the young woman knew what kind of outfit her father was running. It could have gone either way. She had lots of barely veiled scorn—for the outmoded power structures of old white men—and other big ideas. From looking at her you wouldn't guess she had a rebellious streak, what with her big glasses and the way she still wore girlish braids in her hair, a demure cardigan over a quietly loud kitty cat patterned dress. 

She kept hardcore socio-political analysis tucked into her purse and all it took was a conversation and Ana could tell she wanted nothing more than to start a goddamned revolution, and she could do it too. If she put her mind to it. And if she had a bit of luck and a little help along the way—but only a little. She was just one of those people, the smartest one in the room if Ana wasn't present. 

But Ana also had an effect on her as well. The vaguest, tiniest bit her father told her about Ana's new theoretical and practical surgical approaches still made her seem already larger than life. A visionary woman of science, someone who could change the world one day—someone "I'd probably do a pretty bitchin' essay about if I were a little girl," she said with a laugh. Still, she blushed after. She was about to go to university and she had some choice picks but she wanted to go far from here, far from home. Before she left Ana shook her hand and resolved to change her mind on that.

Now that girl is laid out on the table before Ana, naked and quivering. Not in shock yet but getting there. In pain, having been coldly and clinically tortured by Ana and Lillian for the past forty minutes or so. She could see through her black gas mask that it was all Ana, acutely aware that it was Ana's hands that violated her body and touched her vagina and stuck piercings in her labia and nipples while she begged and cried and was ignored. She thought she had been betrayed by Ana, and that Ana was going to kill her on this table. Now she realizes Ana is in just as much trouble as she is.

Lillian says, "You are going to finish up here and then we're going to have a talk."

Ana drops her forceps to the floor. The clank of metal on tile is deafening. “Do it yourself.”

Lillian wordlessly picks up a scalpel and passes it to Jane who places the blade against Sarah's throat. She holds it correctly like a pencil, ready to make a deep incision across if Lillian says to. She stares down Ana. Lillian picks up a new pair of forceps from the stand and a clean needle. She places them one at a time on Sarah's bare chest and tells Ana to pick them up.

Seeing Sarah this way, Ana thinks of Rylan stretched out and on display before her on her operating table and the things she did to her and then made her forget—and she thinks of her now, kept under lock and key by Lillian. She thinks of the things Lillian does to her and what she will do to her after she's finished with Sarah (and Ana, for that matter). But for now Ana has no doubt Jane will not hesitate to do Lillian's bidding so she grudgingly does as she is told, and clamps Sarah's right nipple. Lillian grabs hold of Sarah's face and makes sure she is watching as Ana drives the needle through her nipple. Sarah screams again into her gag. She has tear streaks all down her cheeks. Ana works fast, wanting this to be over. When the barbell is in place Lillian looks satisfied, inspecting the piercing with her gloved fingers. They no longer look pretty on Sarah's body to Ana, nothing to be proud of. They are only marks of shame and sick torment.

"It's done," Ana says. "You need to let her go, Lillian. Alive."

"She'll live," Lillian replies. This answer unsettles Ana.

Jane makes Ana back up into the corner of the room and sit down on a chair. She and Lillian force her wrists into zipties. Jane and Lillian share a look, and then the nurse disappears somewhere. Lillian stands above Ana with her arms crossed, leaning against a steel table.

"She's had enough."

"We'll be the judge of that," Lillian says.

"What is it that you think you know about her?"

"We know her name is Sarah Vaughn. Reporter at the university's student newspaper. We also know she's the daughter of Bill Vaughn. Someone you should be pretty familiar with."

Ana allows a nod. Bill Vaughn is the director of the Belgium Institute himself—her and Doctor Shen's boss.

"I'll give Sarah her due. She won't give up her source. I thought she'd be an easy one to get to. She certainly went down without much of a fight—not like Rylan. But we kept her at the hospital, just for a few days, and while Jane would have liked to look after her little patient a while longer, I'm personally convinced Sarah really doesn't know who's been feeding her all this information. If it was you, bravo." Lillian tuts Ana. "But I don't think it's a coincidence, you and her turning up on my doorstep when you did. We always thought the Belgium Institute went deep. And I'm sure you've been aware of who my employers are for some time now. We know Rylan means something to your people—an experiment of your own or some kind of patented property you're developing right under my nose—and that you want me out of your way. So the way my people see it, this was a sanctioned move by your institute. Sending Sarah after me was your opening play."

"She's just a girl."

"She's a journalist."

"For a student newspaper, Lillian."

"Unwitting or not, she can do damage. I suspect you—or your institute—know this. It's a grass roots, outrage movement in waiting, and that is a strategy. Somebody out there thought of it and thought to use it against us. Especially if she's asking questions about Misty Vega. Misty Vega's a ghost. Long buried. Sarah Vaughn just tried to weaponize her, so Sarah Vaughn isn't just some girl. She's her father's daughter. And for our purposes that's all she is."

While Ana and Lillian spoke, Ana noticed that Jane returned. Now there was another person on the floor with them in the operating theatre, a man in scrubs like Jane. The pair wheel extra machinery on carts onto the floor and plug in extension cables. From the look of things, a ventilator and a heartbeat monitor. They strap a blood pressure cuff around Sarah's arm and attach sensors to her chest.

"What are you going to do to her?" Ana asks Lillian.

"We're going to send a message."

Jane sets up an entirely new mayo stand with different instruments and brushes more antiseptic fluid over the patient's genitalia, pubic area, buttocks and anus, painting right over her new piercings.

While she waits for these areas to dry, she walks around to the head of the table. Sarah watches her nervously—as does Ana. Jane has in her hands scissors, shaving cream, and a razor. She starts with her braids, snipping them off and holding them up by their ends in front of her. She says they were cute on her before she dumps them in the wastebin. She grabs handfuls of her hair, yanks and shears it all off, tosses the clumps in the trash next to her head. Sarah cries and Jane carries on, clipping and forcing her head this way and that. She tells her to stay very still when she brings out the shaving cream and razor.

Two more men dressed in full surgical attire enter the room seemingly from the dark, their green gowns making them seem like shadowy approximations of men apparating into the light. Their hands are already gloved. All eyes in the audience are on these two as they assist in setting up the OR. They work in tandem, unfolding surgical drape and covering the patient's body, leaving her vulva exposed. Sarah watches all of this, eyes wide with fright, tracking them as they walked around her, savouring the sight of her: a body like hers completely under their control—they got to decide whatever they wanted to do to it.

They certainly acted like real doctors. Real professionals. The three men and Jane take their places around the operating table. Two surgeons at the foot of the table, one (presumably the anesthesiologist or anesthetist) at the head, and Jane in charge of handing them their instruments. The head surgeon is an older, grey-haired man. His assistant and the anesthesiologist are younger and middle-aged, respectively. The head surgeon begins by inspecting the patient's vagina, spreading her labia with his gloved fingers. 

When he speaks to his team, it's in German. A low, throaty voice he has on him coming from his mask. Ana can understand him. He makes his own observations about Sarah's vagina. Confirms that she's a bonafide virgin. He touches her hymen. Rubs it. Tickles the opening and her around her peehole that's stuffed full with a catheter. This makes Sarah squirm on the table almost involuntarily. She's experienced an inordinate amount of pain tonight, but she's also been fingered and touched in places that make her feel good by hands other than her own and can't help how her body reacts to this. It makes her feel ashamed.

The surgeon motions for Jane to hand him a syringe. Sarah jumps and squeezes her eyes shut when he sticks it directly into her hymen and injects a small amount of the nerve block in few areas. Just enough to numb the tissue in question but not the entire vagina. While they wait for the drug to work, he and his assistant adjust her catheter and get her labia out the way. 

Urological surgeons sometimes used a hooked needle to pull thread through the labia and then tied the ends off and clamped them with forceps to the surgical draping at the base of the thigh. These surgeons improvised, using the fresh piercings Ana had given her by looping thread through the rings and spreading her vaginal lips. The threads are tied off and clamped the same way and soon Sarah's hymen is completely exposed. The head surgeon begins to massage it with a finger, making sure the drug has seeped into the tissue. He discusses with his assistant what techniques they will be utilizing, making demonstrative motions with the tip of a pair of forceps and his hands.

"Don't do this," Ana says to Lillian. "You've made your point. You're the biggest and baddest motherfuckers on the block. Now stop."

Lillian says nothing, focused deeply on the close-up image projected above them of the patient's spread vagina. Jane hands the surgeon thumb-forceps and a scalpel.

"Lillian..."

The surgeon makes the first cut, grasping a section of the hymen with the forceps and making just a tiny knick with his scalpel to start before pausing, deciding how to proceed. The operating room becomes red-tinged, lit up by the projection above showing every gory detail of the patient's surgical deflowering. Ana feels the incision like a blow to the stomach. There are a few amazed gasps from the audience. The surgeons continue cutting away at the girl’s virginal opening. The graphic imagery doesn't make Ana nauseous—she's used to blood and surgery—it's Sarah's eyes that make her uneasy. They're frantic-looking and seem to be trained directly on her, silently begging Ana to do something. Sarah can't see what's going on between her legs but she feels the surgeons' hands on her and hears everything. She hears their low voices and the clatter and clink of surgical instruments being picked up, used, and set down. 

The surgeons methodically cut away her hymen, widening the opening. The assistant holds two forceps clamped to her inner labia while two more dangle freely from the bottom, and he readjusts them when they need to reassess what needs to be removed, seeing if she opens nicely. They shove a wad of gauze into her vagina to soak up the blood and keep on cutting. Every so often the surgeon will use his thumbs to spread her open to inspect the orifice and he and his assistant determine if she is "ready" or not.

He removes the gauze and pushes a finger deep inside her vagina, wiggling it around. His assistant waits patiently for him and he is told "Fuck it. Good enough." The finger of his glove comes back coated in a mixture of blood and gooey arousal. The surgeon asks Jane for the syringe filled with saline and a pan. He and his assistant clean out Sarah's vagina, letting her drip into the pan held underneath her butt. They put it aside and then the head surgeon stands up from the stool. There's a look on his face—all of their faces—that is animalistic and predatory. His hand goes to his groin and Ana notices for the first time the man had become aroused during the hymenectomy.

Lillian sees the horrified look in Ana's eyes and says, "I want you to know we have friends in places all over the world who do good work for us. It's only fair to keep them happy and let them have some fun every once in a while... no matter how perverse their indulgences."

Ana was never one to jump into action. She never fantasized about being a hero and saving the day. So she sits in fear and complete helplessness.

The surgeon lifts up his gown and lowers his scrub pants. Jane matter of factly passes him a condom and moves to hold down the patient. The anesthesiologist has a stethoscope ready and slips it under the surgical draping to place it on the girl's chest. The head surgeon gives himself a couple of strokes before putting the condom on himself. His penis is visible for only a couple of blinks and is only mediocre-looking, before he places the head against the patient's vagina and without warning pushes into her right there on the table.

Every muscle in Sarah's body stiffens at the shock of feeling this kind of penetration for the first time and she lets out a muffled "aah." The hands holding her down tighten their grip, forcing her aggressively onto him almost. Exploring hands find her pubic mound and feel her vaginal lips bulging around the man’s penis. The surgeon's finger had been the only previous thing inside her she felt but it was not the same as an erect cock. It fills her. Despite him not being very big. Rather, she was very small. The surgeon felt this with his gloved finger upon examining her freshly opened and bloody cunt and he couldn't wait to try her out.

The older surgeon teases in his raspy German, "No longer a virgin, my little lamb." 

Sarah's heart pounds and the man listening with his steth enjoys this immensely, placing it in his favourite spots on her chest. It's the heartbeat of a young girl experiencing such a unique feeling—even masturbation sounded differently—for the first time in her life mixed with fear, mixed with revulsion and pain. To him it's a high, listening to her scared pump. It picks up in pace when she begins to be fucked.

The surgeon thrusts slowly and awkwardly. His ass is hanging out from where the gown opens up in the back. He is not a porn star. This is not glamorous or rehearsed. He is attempting to pleasure himself inside a hole and that's all. The audience doesn't seem to mind. It's clumsy but it's depraved and it's real. Sarah's tears are real. Ana sees several of the spectators masturbating in their seats or getting blowjobs from their paid companions while they watch the show.

The three surgeons remain speaking in their native language while they violate her and Ana picks up sentences here and there. It's full of filth and not meant for anyone's ears but their own, and makes them only hornier:

"She is not yet used to a man's thing."

"First dick, darling."

The assistant retrieves a hypodermic needle filled with saline and the surgeon pauses for him to locate the patient's clitoris and stick the needle through it. This makes Sarah flinch in agony and tighten her cunt around the man's penis. It stings her and makes her clit look swollen. The assistant places his hand on the patient's chin and says, "This damned gag. It's too bad we cannot hear her beautiful screams."

The surgeon says they will keep her little mouth busy soon enough anyway. He reaches up and pulls the surgical draping from the patient's body, letting it fall to the floor and exposing her breasts and stomach and thighs, before continuing to fuck her. Without the draping she looks tiny. His gloved hands look large on her body, his thumbs digging in below her rib cage, fingers wrapped all the way around her sides.

The assistant gropes her breasts and tugs on her pierced nipples before injecting saline into the areolas one at a time, making them look slightly puffy. He caps the needle and tosses it onto the used surgical instruments pile. His hand goes over her gag and he asks the anesthesiologist if he can use her mouth now. The man nods and the two work together at the head of the table for their special oral procedure. 

She is given a shot through her IV line and it only takes minutes for it to take effect. It's a neuromuscular block to induce temporary paralysis throughout her body. Soon she cannot move, scream, or even breathe. They quickly cut away the gag and jam a laryngoscope into her mouth. The anesthesiologist feeds a long endotracheal tube down her throat and switches on the ventilator. The machine does her breathing for her but while she has air in her lungs again, Sarah's frozen-open eyes give away her fear and discomfort. The block does not take away any pain and she is still able to feel everything. The anesthesiologist removes Sarah's glasses and places them safely on the instrument stand. He asks Jane to help give the patient eye-drops and to tape her eyelids shut so she doesn't dry out. Once she's done, he tells the assistant that she's ready.

The assistant and Jane adjust the detachable headrest of the operating table so the patient's head hangs off the edge. Now he pulls down his scrub bottoms and lifts up his gown. Jane helps him put on his condom, rolling the latex up his semi-erect shaft. For a minute Jane holds his penis in her gloved hands, feeling him grow and marveling at it. He's larger than the older surgeon and is able to utilize this hole in ways some men simply, anatomically, can't. 

When he steps closer the anesthesiologist holds open Sarah's mouth and keeps her breathing tube out of his way and her tongue depressed. The man works himself inside her, carefully avoiding her teeth. He and the anesthesiologist share a chuckle when his penis brushes against the other man's gloved fingers. The tip of his penis touches the back of her throat but there is no gagging, just a yielding passage. It isn't oral sex in the traditional sense. Their method of course loses the sensation of the receiving person's lips and ability to suck on the member as well as any added stimulation from the tongue, but it's a trade off—with a bit of effort, he pushes his penis deeper in and it starts down the patient's airway which is an untold pleasure. 

There is no negotiation or needing to ease it in when she is like this, completely paralyzed and forced to accept what he gives her. Her throat bulges as it opens up fully and he's still not all the way in. With a grunt he forces the last couple of inches down, mashing her face and nose against his scrotum. The ventilator continues its measured wheeze regardless of whatever is happening to her nose and mouth. Jane enjoys the sight of Sarah's throat, murmuring that it looked hot as fuck. She places a gloved finger on it, measuring how far the man has gotten inside her. She shares an amazed look with him and begins to massage the long bulge, stroking the entire length of it and feeling his hardness just underneath.

Now Sarah was being shared by two men from both ends. The older surgeon got a few more forceful pumps in while he took in the view of his assistant starting to ease back and forth down the girl's throat. He pulls out of her vagina and tells the anesthesiologist to come and try her. The man asks if he is tired and the surgeon laughs, says of course—he is an old timer now. He steps aside for the anesthesiologist who gives him a polite "danke schon" and exposes his penis to put on a condom. Standing between her legs he rubs the covered head of his cock against the labial piercings before putting it inside her vagina. He comments that she is still tight despite the drugs they gave her.

"Doesn't she feel wonderful?"

"As small as the little virgin in Trausnitz."

"Oh yes I remember." The older surgeon strokes his cock. "The lovely games we played with that one."

The anesthesiologist puts his thumb on the patient's clit and pulls back the hood in between thrusts. "Maybe they will allow us to circumcise her..."

The older surgeon squeezes Sarah's skinny butt cheek and tells the man fucking her to see how her bottom feels next—he hasn't tried her there yet and he's curious. The anesthesiologist withdraws his cock and positions the tip at the cleft of her buttocks. Even with a squirt of lube rubbed into the entrance he has a bit of trouble getting it in. Both men are surprised by how long it's taking him. The older man spreads her buttocks as much as possible to reveal all of the small, puckered hole for his friend. It’s not as welcoming as the cunt is. She would be nearly impossible to enter through here if she could resist him. But as she is paralyzed for the moment all they have to contend with is her hole size and natural tightness. The anesthesiologist needs to use his thumb to just stuff the head of his penis inside, finally getting past the muscular ring of the anus only with constant applied pressure. He takes her one inch at a time out of necessity. He says he is worried about creating a rip in her back passage. He does not begin to fuck her yet. Once he buries his length nearly to the balls, he sort of just admires the sight and sensation of being in her like this, her grip and warmth. The older man asks him how it is.

"Innocent in this hole too," he replies.

"Good. Stretch the little ass."

The anesthesiologist starts to fuck it, wrapping his gloved hands around her thighs for support. He goes for a good few minutes and then gives her back to the older surgeon for him to take his turn. While he steps away, he mutters something about how he is never able to cum inside. He pulls off his dirty condom and drops it in the wastebin. Then he stands to the side of the operating table and begins to jerk himself off and, after a few minutes of tugging on and playing with one of her pierced nipples, shoots onto her breasts. The two other surgeons seem to increase the speed and power of their thrusts in their respective holes, turned on by the sight of his thick orgasm splattered on her small, sweaty chest. They breathe heavily through their surgical masks, hold her down harder and continue pounding away.

The anesthesiologist wipes his gloves off on his pants and then he goes to check the patient's vitals, her heart rate and blood pressure, and that the machine is still breathing for her. It was a small dose of muscle block she received and the effects wouldn't last more than a half hour or so. He waits patiently for the other men to finish. 

The patient's asshole is grippy enough for the older surgeon to use without issue and with a grunt he cums while still stuffed inside her. When he takes his penis out he leans in to take a lingering look at her freshly fucked, leaking holes, spreading her open and getting a good view of her deflowered pussy and raw-looking and dilated asshole. 

The assistant can last longer than the others but he is helped along by Jane whose gloved hand is applying gentle pressure to Sarah's windpipe. Her other hand is down her pants. Her kneading fingers and encouragements to him and compliments on how sexy their little patient looks with his dick wedged so far down her throat send him over the edge. He pumps his load into his condom and eases up fucking Sarah's face, but he doesn't remove his penis yet. Jane milks every last drop from him, stroking the bulge in Sarah's throat. Now they're done.

The men strip off their condoms and discard them. They tuck their penises back in their pants and take off their stained and sweaty rubber gloves. They take one last look at their well-fucked patient—her stretched out and glistening holes, her slobbery chin and shiny face, her cum-splashed chest—and file out of the room. Sarah can't move, but she's still very much awake and very sore. Jane gets her head back into a resting position, wipes drool and lube from the corner of her mouth. She puts her face next to her ear and whispers something but all Ana catches is: "Ready for round two, babe?" 

Jane looks up at the audience, many of whom are now on their phones. She catches Ana looking at them too and she grins at her from behind her mask.

"You have no idea what you've just done," Ana finally says to Lillian.

"Doing. As in, currently in progress," Lillian says. "Her night's not over yet, Ana."

"There is nothing more you need to do to her. She doesn't deserve any of this."

Lillian says nothing. Only stares at Ana, studying her in her dissecting way.

"If you want the Institute, you want Bill Vaughn." Ana swallows. "You want me."

"You want to take her place on the table?" Lillian asks, a mischievous look in her eye.

"You'd torture me like that? Or worse?"

After a long silence, Lillian shakes her head. But it looked as if she were seriously contemplating it.

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Because you, my dear, are somebody."

"She's somebody too."

"To her father, maybe... to you, probably. But she's nobody to us. Not like you."

Ana is tired of her cryptic replies. She growls, "What is the message? The one you want to send to her father."

"The message isn't for him. It's for you."

Ana looks confused as hell.

Lillian clarifies: "'Look at us. Look at what we can do.'"

"You didn't need to hurt her."

"Yes we did."

Ana takes in a breath. "You're right. You did. Because message received."

Lillian nods. It's all she wanted to hear. “Now, was that so hard?”

She pulls off her gloves, dropping them on the table, and walks up into the viewing section and shares a quick word with a woman in the audience—she has a masquerade mask on but Ana thinks it's the woman she met earlier, the hostess of the party—and returns to Ana. When Ana asks what's happening, Lillian shushes her. The woman stands up and addresses the room. She announces they've reached the end of the bidding period and thanks all those who participated—and that the winner of this lot prefers to remain anonymous. There are a few disappointed grumbles from the men and women in the audience, but they begin to leave the operating theatre. When Ana realizes what the auction was for, she feels sick. She seethes.

Lillian takes hold of Ana's arm and pulls her into the prep room.

"Don't fucking touch me," Ana hisses.

But Lillian snips off her ziptie, freeing Ana's hands. Ana angrily tears off her mask and starts taking off her surgical gloves. She thrashes out of her gown and drops it to the floor as well. She glowers at Lillian.

Lillian says, "Do you want to hit me?"

Ana does, but remains perfectly still. She knows better than to.

"Do you want to kill me?" Lillian asks.

"No."

"Why not?"

"That's not what I do."

"Good answer."

Ana says, "So what now? You keep me as your sex slave? Like Sarah? Like Rylan and Misty Vega? You keep me drugged up and pissing myself and confined to a hospital bed?"

"Actually, you're free to leave. There's a car waiting for you outside. You have my word you won't be harmed."

"And Sarah? Who'd you sell her to?"

"No one. You take her home. I killed the auction. It took a chunk of change out of my own wallet and a favour to be named later to do it, though. You're welcome, by the way."

"Why? Why would you?"

"Consider it a professional courtesy from me to you. I did want you to witness everything we did to Sarah. But I also want you to know there are mixed feelings towards you. My employers are still talking, figuring you out. I wasn't lying when I told you earlier you needed to do everything I told you tonight. Because if you walked out the door when you said you were going to, I think things would have gone badly for you. It’d be such a waste. I convinced them I could keep you... in hand. The truth is, I admire you. You've got one hell of a head on those shoulders of yours. I don't trust you just yet, but I admire you."

"Doesn't that make me dangerous?"

"If you had an army at your back, maybe. But even if you did... mine's the biggest. And all things considered, it's well within the realm of possibility that you end up working alongside me, for my employer. I will always champion you."

Ana snorts. As derisively as she can manage.

"You want to know what I think, Ana?" Lillian says. "I think I don't need to say anything more. I don't need to seduce you, lure you over here. You've seen. You'll come over all by yourself because you are no goddamn saint. Rylan's in and out of it sometimes, but when she's in... she tells me things. Memories she has that seem like dreams and sound like nightmares. I've examined her myself—you know I have. Somebody did something to her. I'm not saying it was you, but you didn't hate tonight as much as you say you do. If we had a look at you right this second I think we'll find you just dripping wet under your dress. I don't think you're attracted to girls, or rubber gloves, or even blood and gore. You're attracted to power. Not even money. Just power and the freedom to do whatever the fuck you want, and there's nobody more powerful than my employer. They control heads of state, for fuck's sake. So you take Sarah and hell, you take Rylan too. From there you have a couple of options. What you decide to do next is up to you, but my employer has bigger things to worry about than a couple of stupid little girls. You want to tell Bill Vaughn what you did to his daughter tonight? You go ahead. If he wants to take his shot at us, we’ll come right back and you've seen what we can do. The only difference is I won't be around to call them off next time... or maybe I just won't want to. If the next Sarah Vaughn ends up back on my table I will let them be skullfucked to death and watch with carnal, libidinous pleasure."

"And option two?"

"Or you let things lie. Sarah's hit piece will be killed, we'll make sure of it—have put protections in place. You take Sarah and you take Rylan, and no damage will have been done. Your institute goes its way and we go ours."

"Except for the part where somebody did get hurt."

"She'll be fine... if you tell her to be fine. For her sake and yours, she'd better be fine."

Lillian is true to her word and Ana is given a ride home with Sarah wrapped up in a blanket next to her. She helps Sarah inside and helps her onto the couch. Sarah was quiet the whole drive over, probably still recovering from the effects of the paralysis, but she could walk and talk—more, give sullen, single-word answers—and most importantly, was alive. For most of the evening Ana wasn't sure how things would play out. If anybody was counting, there was a large probability of both of them being "disappeared" by Lillian tonight. They had a bit of luck on their side. She let them go (and Ana had called Shen and made sure Rylan was on her way out of the hospital) as sort of a loyalty test and power move—a cocky intimidation tactic. She wanted Ana to know she was special, but her affability towards her had its limits. Today she was merciful but only because the Belgium Institute didn't scare her. She would hurt Sarah Vaughn and not fear reprisal because they should be glad she left her alive at all. Lillian—and the Summer Orchestra—were old school this way. Run like the Mafia. Relied on threats of violence.

But Ana isn't scared. Sarah however is understandably shaken up. The first thing she says to Ana, when she is brought a cup of tea, is "I never gave you up." She can't stop herself from crying and Ana hugs her tightly and strokes her shaved head and tells her "I know." She tells her she was so brave, and she needs her to be brave for a little while longer.

An hour after Ana arrives home, she receives a text from Doctor Shen. He's outside her apartment. Ana lets him in, unsure why he's here. She asked him to keep an eye on Rylan but she was expecting periodic updates over the phone, not in person. At first she fears the worst, but he says Rylan was successfully transferred out of Lillian's psych ward and from there, moved to the Belgium Institute for protection. That's a relief—she’ll be able to look after her and start her treatment and recovery when she visits her. As soon as it’s light out, she promises. But this still doesn't explain why he's here and he doesn’t look like he’s leaving anytime soon.

"So how did the fundraiser go?" Shen asks. "I assume you managed to change Lillian Peeters' mind, what with Rylan the hell out of there."

"That... is exactly what happened. And uneventful—the fundraiser was uneventful."

"Anybody interesting there?"

Ana shakes her head. "Nope."

"Well, you're lying."

"What would I be lying about? Who would I be lying about?"

"Sarah Vaughn."

Ana purses her lips. "What does she have to do with this?"

"Because she's missing and I have a pretty good idea who took her. Is she okay?"

"Shen—"

"The director is perturbed. They'd had dinner plans and suddenly she wasn't picking up her phone. And now she hasn't been seen for the last three days. Trail's gone cold. —Well, that's not quite true. Because I had a look at her apartment. I know what she was working on last. An expose about Lillian's house of 1000 corpses. Lots of pretty specific notes. Almost as if she had a super secret source on the inside."

"Okay. God dammit. I approached her to get a story out."

"And?"

"She went to get a quote from Lillian."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Lillian drugged her and kept her in her ward until tonight. She wanted to make an example of her."

"And did she?"

Ana nods.

"Where is she?"

"Sent her home."

"No, you didn't."

"No, she didn't." They both turn to see Sarah standing in the doorway leading down to the basement. She's wearing a loose hospital gown and is barefoot. She says, sheepishly, "Hey, Doctor Shen."

"Hey, kid. It's good to see you." Shen has known her since she was little, having worked with her father for decades. He instantly knows something's up from the way she holds herself when she stands, her slight limp. She looks like she's in pain.

"Do you guys want to take this thing downstairs? Because I'm, uh, getting bored," she says to Ana with a sad smile.

Without waiting for a reply from Ana, Shen follows Sarah. He softly growls as he passes Ana, "Don't fucking lie to me again."

Sarah is waiting in Ana's home-setup operating room. Shen, expecting answers, turns to Ana. Ana tells him everything from the start—well, almost everything. She summarizes the ordeal Sarah was put through, but tells him about her talk with Lillian. About either shutting Sarah up or letting the truth come out—and Lillian all but warned if they chose to tell the truth, would anyone believe them? 

And they tell him about what they're doing now... Ana is performing a sexual assault forensic exam, putting together a rape kit. They're in the midst of documenting the evidence of all the different violations visited upon her body and taking her statement and account of the evening. Ana intends to put together the report and bring it to the director herself. It can't go through normal channels, done by the police, because if everything Shen's told her about the Summer Orchestra is true then it's not safe. They have their hands in everything and rape kits go missing or become inadmissible in court all the time. And Ana and Sarah know there is nothing the police can realistically do against Lillian or her employer. They've rigged the game from the start. 

Shen considers Lillian's ultimatum and reminds them there's only one outcome here if they show the director of the Belgium Institute everything that was done to Sarah: it will set him on the warpath. There will be consequences. If it doesn't destroy their organization, it might end Ana's career. Because she was the one who made a mistake with Rylan and crossed paths with Lillian Peeters, and she was the one who had a hand—inadvertently—in Sarah's prolonged sexual torment... they do not intend to omit this detail. But still, it's the right thing to do, Ana quietly argues. 

If Shen disagreed, ever practical and the opposite of impulsive, he does not voice this when Sarah takes off her hospital gown and stands naked before the two doctors to put an end to the discussion. Apart from the obvious tortures, her genital and nipple piercings and the wads of bloody gauze stuffed into her vagina and rectum, there is bruising all over her body. There is no question she was brutally and sexually assaulted. Shen doesn't dare say she should be silenced or scared into submission, not after seeing this. It’s an insult to even think it. He asks Sarah if she'd like him to wait outside, but she asks him to stay.

So he takes a seat while Ana puts on her gloves, asks her to lay back, and continues with her exam. She takes photos of Sarah's battered body and records videos, asking her to tell her about each wound she sustained in detail. When she gets to the pelvic exam, Shen finds it hard to watch as Ana shows off the condition of her vagina and anus. They have a quick but heavy discussion about if she’d like to choose to surgically repair her hymen but Sarah doesn’t want to decide right now. Ana collects swabs from both orifices, as well as off her breasts where they will locate splotches of dried semen. Her abusers wore condoms and rubber gloves of course but it seemed to be more for protection against venereal diseases rather than mindfulness in not getting their DNA on their rape victim. These men were that confident she would be disposed of by the Summer Orchestra, auctioned off and trafficked to some far part of the world and never heard from again (if not outright murdered). 

Ana checks the condition of Sarah's throat and how it looks from the inside, finding signs of trauma there too. Lillian and her employer are counting on them to keep things hushed—that's why they chose to come after Sarah this way. The abuses she suffered are not readily apparent, able to be covered up by long sleeves and so much shame, not blatant like a beating or a killing... those masculine things impossible to play down or ignore and must be answered with proportional violence. It is another level of calculated evil and malevolence uniquely targeting her femininity. But Ana and Sarah are going present this evidence, no matter how humiliating and shameful, to the director of the Belgium Institute because she needs justice and retribution over what was done. He is the only person who can feasibly provide these things for her.

When she is finished her extensive examination, Ana lets Sarah take a shower and tells her to sleep in her bed. Ana doesn't mind the couch. Sarah has already drifted off by the time Ana leaves the room and very carefully eases the door closed. Shen is waiting just outside her bedroom. He has a look on his face like he knows something about her and doesn’t wait to hit her with it.

"She did it for you," Shen says. His accusatory glare puts Ana off balance. She doesn't want to lie to him again so she just pushes past him and walks down the hall. "I've known her for thirteen years and never once have I thought she was stupid, or did stupid things... like ask someone as dangerous as Lillian for a quote for a story in a goddamn, motherfucking student newspaper. So either you didn't do a good enough job telling her how fond the Summer Orchestra is of casual murder—even though I explained this to you—or you told her to do it. And here's the thing. I've known you for a few years now and never once have I thought you were stupid or did stupid things. Reckless, yes—not stupid. So I'm thinking what happened to Sarah... is on you. Does she even know why?"

"Do you?"

"Yeah I got a version. It's coming together. Slowly, but surely. If I'm wrong, you need to tell me. Because I'm the one standing between you and the director. Right now I'm the United-fucking-States Congress and it's my signature you need to launch the aircraft carriers. And you need this to happen... it's all part of your plan."

Ana crosses her arms. "All right. Shoot."

[Recommended music: The National - Light Years]

"Misty Vega was never just a convenient name in a story. It wasn't luck you found her. You didn't stumble across her one day and decide to use her against Lillian Peeters. She was always locked away in a tower somewhere, guarded by an evil witch. You knew exactly where. You just didn't have the means to go and get her. So you became a goddamn doctor and got yourself noticed by the Belgium Institute any way you could. Somehow you heard there were people like you who were always looking out for like-minded individuals, and they had money and power. Not as much as the people holding Misty Vega, no, but enough to start a fight and maybe not get knocked out in the first round. So you joined up and you waited and put pieces in play. Rylan was no accident. She was always a timed implosion. You put her under Lillian's care and slipped in past the gates, caused all kinds of friction over there, and then you armed Sarah Vaughn with knowledge—the story of you—and sent her on a very important mission because you thought you had Lillian figured. You didn't expect damage to this extent but planned for a kidnapping at the very least. You got lucky tonight. And now you've got everything you need to pit the institute against the Orchestra. Then we beat up on each other, all the while you're breaking Misty Vega out of the hospital. It's all an elaborate heist."

"I'll be honest if you tell me one thing, Shen. Do you have any proof?"

Shen brings up his phone. Shows her a single photo. It's old, heavily compressed, but it's of two young women: Ana, younger—a university freshman—and Misty Vega. Their arms are wrapped around each other as they goof off and pose for the photo. "You deleted this one a long time ago. Tried to scrub it from all social media. I have it because we do a deep dive on all of our people. Didn't mean anything when you started out because nobody knew who Misty Vega was. And nobody cared."

Hearing this makes Ana's face flash with anger for a moment.

Shen continues: "Except for you. You were friends. Maybe for a long time, from before camera phones were a thing. But this is the oldest piece of digital evidence that tells me you and her were friends—if nothing more. That night you found her again and came to me upset because you found out what Lillian was doing to her... that wasn't an act. You have built a career—no, a life—around this woman. She was always the endgame. So, tell me I'm wrong."

"Had a bit of luck tonight," Ana admits. "All we need is a little help—but only a little. Hoping it comes from you."

"And you'll have your war."

"I just want her back."

"All right. Then let's go get her."

People have been arriving to the Belgium Institute campus building all day. There have been two helicopters since this morning while a steady stream of black cars come and go, dropping off or picking up men and women in the underground parking for not-so-secret meetings. Some linger around making phone calls or to make small talk amongst each other and smoke cigarettes. They all know of each other at least by reputation.

The director, Bill Vaughn, has stepped outside his conference room to ask for a briefing from Shen and Ana lingers nearby as Shen's appointed lieutenant. Shen has updates on progress, movement, and who is on who's side. His intelligence-gathering has never been more crucial to the institute as it is now. Shen has never told her, but Ana suspects he used to be a spy. Vaughn asks him who the Summer Orchestra's got, should things escalate. Shen tells him, "Crown prosecution is a write off, but the provincial supreme court is being contested."

"That'll be a fight."

"And a half. It won't come cheap, finding skeletons, cleaning house."

"I brought in Briggs-Benson a half hour ago. Whatever you need, you'll get it."

"Well fucking done."

"Spare no expense. What about the federal court?"

"Full of bad guys."

"So we win it here. Anything else?"

"What I know you do now."

From outside the glass walls of the conference room they can see the state of the director's war room. It's essentially a buffet table of never-ending provisions and extra-strength coffee, and a group of liaisons and lieutenants, men and women—with more over video chat—talking financial and political strategy all working to mobilize whatever assets and munitions they could muster, favours to trade and call in, to inject cash into the entire effort; and figuring out how most of all to hurt those aligned against them—their businesses and capital funds. 

All of these people have seen what happened to Sarah Vaughn because the director is transparent about this. They are warned this is what they are up against—this is who the Summer Orchestra are. They are aware this is a vengeful war. Many are in it for the simple thrill of the fight because that’s just who they are, and they have seen projections about how lucrative it may prove. They are likely aware of the shadier aspects of the institute and not here for moral reasons. 

And there are some who have joined up because of what happened to Sarah. It makes them uncomfortable, but it also upsets them deeply. They should be mad. For Sarah, and the countless others like her. This is not only a financial fight but an ideological one as well. They needed to pick a side and they did. But they all come with the potential risk of finding out that the Belgium Institute’s hands are far from clean themselves. If there were leaks there would be damage, that was certain.

Before Vaughn heads back in, he tells Shen and Ana to keep developing their own projects for the institute no matter what it took. Now's the time to dream big. Their research has always been the organization's money-makers and they will always find people just crazy enough to bet on them. People wanted to see big ideas and change. Bonus if there was a solid return on investment. Above all these kinds of people wanted to go in on ideas that made history and bettered society, not just benefited themselves and kept the age-old ivory towers high above the filth and shit. Despite the ugly things the Belgium Institute has done in secret, it would serve as a lightning rod, then, for those who were betting on the future, not a regressive dark age that threatened to re-emerge like some buried, ancient evil if things continued the way they were going... "the way things used to be," or "the good old days." So it would be young money versus old—juniors versus seniors. He tells them that the American League is going to war with the National League... now get to work.

Shen and Ana share a look before he walks off. His expression says he hopes she knows what she's doing. He was with her when she informed the director about what happened to his daughter, and he convinced Mr. Vaughn this was a good fight—a good undertaking. She doesn't know if the decision the director made was purely for revenge or purely monetary or somewhere in between, but Shen wouldn't complain about his new command. Always the analyst, he said there was a lot of upside to this war. A lot of danger, too, but he'd made a promise to help Ana and he did this by simply keeping his mouth shut and standing behind her when she needed him to. Sarah Vaughn was always on board. She knew about Misty Vega before anyone did. She would do anything Ana asked (and did put her body on the line) because it was for a good cause: Sarah, like Ana, believed Misty Vega had come up unlucky, was taken advantage of, used and systematically buried. Not the first and not the last. Sarah would give anything to buck the broken system. She confessed this to Ana, and Ana decided then to put her to work. She wanted her revolution so Ana provided one for her.

Sarah was Ana's first soldier and now—she glances at the room full of suited, powerful people putting their heads together, getting shit done—Ana has her army.

--

Harvey: Congratulations on allowing us to crawl into the female mind for the final stampede to nirvana. But the people watching this movie, or should I say the men jerkin' off to this movie, they don't want to be in a woman's head, not really. They want to be in their own heads. They want to be watching a couple of dicks that might be their own fill up a woman. Candy: Porn. Harvey: Our raison d’etre.

-HBO’s The Deuce (2018)

--

SURGICAL CORRECTION: PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR PART FIVE

[impure-desires]

hold an ultrasound probe to my stomach while I'm being pounded so I can see it moving inside me

take an x-ray of me with an impossibly large and dense toy stuffed in my hole so I can see how far up it goes and how my insides make room for it

put an endo camera all the way up my pussy so I can see the hot fluids spill from the tip directly into my cervix

restrain me from squirming on the cold table, so all the wired probes carefully placed around my body to monitor my vitals won't get loose

there are many ways to make me see what exactly is happening to my body during the research

make me see all of it

[dearcervus]

Giving a cute insomniac boy some pills to help him sleep better… staying with him and holding him in my arms as he slowly drifts off to sleep. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I had a bit of fun while he rests… 🖤

[medicaldesigner]

Second scene of the film Coma

[its-crowning]

I see your pregnant college student, and I raise you: The shame and embarrassment of being called to the front to be used as an example in a reproductive science class~

imagine a guy thinks he's hiding it well, too. he's nearing his due date--he's big--but he was so certain that he'd managed to play it off as weight gain. it's winter, anyway. perfect time to hide a pregnancy under the baggiest hoodie, and a slouch.

until he's sitting (legs splayed out for his belly to have room to hang down between them, he's still able to cram himself behind his desk this way) in biology class. they've been talking about the different systems, it's all very rudimentary in a way that feels insulting for a college level class, and today is reproduction in mammals. the guy feels himself getting hot between his legs as the professor shows a diagram of sperm penetrating an egg. he hates what's happened to him, but this is where it started.

the professor is showing a human gestation as an example. the different trimesters...he wants to look away, it's just too real for him to handle when he can feel his burden kicking his ribs...but he can't close his ears.

"the fetus starts very small and indistinct, but will mature and grow until it reaches full term, which..."

the professor's eyes land on him. his heart pounds. in that moment, he knows the professor knows. he thinks that's all it is--a judgmental glance--until the man beckons him.

"actually, we're in luck. we have a living, breathing example here in class today." he hasn't stopped staring at the guy. "do you mind coming up here for a second?"

the guy feels frozen. all eyes are on him.

he can't just say no. he can't deny that he's pregnant, either--now that the professor has put that out there, there's no mistaking the round curve that pushes against his sweatshirt. maybe there never was. maybe everyone knew all along that he'd fooled around and gotten laden with a heavy, kicky baby that he was too scared to think about for longer than five minutes. that he'd probably pop before winter exams, and have to redo all of his classes, but was stubbornly showing up to these because he refused to admit it to himself.

everyone is staring. the baby kicks.

the guy stands up with great effort, and he swears his belly looks so much larger--so obvious--than before. he waddles to the front, beet red with embarrassment and effort. it doesn't matter anymore--he cups his bump with both hands to help ease the burden. he lets himself look as pregnant as he really is.

the professor wastes no time in flipping up the sweatshirt to reveal the strained, bloated bump. the guy winces, knowing it's not pretty--he can barely stand to look at it himself. his belly button is pulled taut, theres so many stretchmarks and veins, and he's a little hairy. his body has become completely animal, sacrificing itself to his fertility. his classmates are whispering to each other.

"if i had to guess, i'd say he's 38 weeks along. ready to birth anytime, probably. this is what full term looks like...turn to the side, please."

the boy does what he's told. there's no point in not.

a few students gasp at his size when they see how far it actually juts out from his hips.

the professor starts feeling his belly, firmly. he nods his head. "yep, head down and everything. at this moment, there is a fully formed baby inside his womb. a newborn, waiting to be born. he doesn't have long--what a treat, to have an example for today's lesson. usually, people don't leave the house when they're this pregnant."

the professor turns to the classmates, and the guy tries to hide back beneath his sweatshirt. he tries to go back to where he was seated, but the professor stops him. "wait," he says, looking back to the class.

"any questions?"

several inquisitive hands shoot up. the guy's pelvis feels like it's going to snap with the weight of his baby. he sighs, and resigns himself to his fate of being ogled like a specimen, and of being as pregnant as he is, at last. if he's not mistaken...there's a knowing twinkle in the professor's eye.

[altars-of-desire]

I want to be examined have every part of my checked

I want to have a doctor examine my outer vagina

and then go inside sticking a finger and press on my tummy

I want a speculum inside me have them look at my cervix

I want to have my body used

[gasmask-nitrous-smoking-fetish]

[cardio-enby]

I want to be tied up completely, a stethoscope forced onto my chest and a vibrator placed on my sensitive clit. My heart races as the person listens closely while they torture my sensitive clit for hours, edging me just to make my heart race. Oh what I wouldn't give for this...

[sursur75]

[chip193-anesthesia]

Induction

You’re sitting in one of those Barco chairs, already changed into your gown, cap, and booties.  The pre-op nurse has been over and collected her data, started your IV, and covered you with the blanket from the warmer.  I’ve been over to see you and discuss the anesthesia plan and we’ve agreed to general anesthesia.  I left your chairside for a few minutes, telling you that the room isn’t quite ready and that I’ll be back when it’s time to go inside.

 About 10 minutes later, a nurse in a green scrub dress and purple cloth scrub cap comes over and talks with you for a few minutes.  She verifies your procedure, your ID band, and a few other questions.  As she reaches the end of her checklist, I reappear, but with a surgical mask over my nose and mouth.

 “Any questions before we go inside?”

 You shake your head no.

 “Walking or riding?”

 “I’ll walk”

 The circulating nurse and I help you stand up and wrap the blanket around you.  She puts her surgical mask on and we guide you into the surgical suite and into the second room on the right.

 As you walk in, you see the table in the middle of the room, a couple of people at a table in the back of the room, one of whom is already in a sterile gown and gloves, and the anesthesia machine.  We guide you to the table.

 “I just want you to sit on the side of the table.”

 You follow the direction perfectly.  I then untie the top of your gown and open it.  I place the 5 electrodes from the heart monitor onto your back, directly opposite where you would expect them on your chest.

 “Let’s get you to twist and lay back.”

 We help you bring your legs up and then help you bring them up onto the table.  As you start to lay back, you’re just shy of the doughnut.

 “Scoot on up the table for us, until you feel my hand on your shoulder.”

 You do exactly as I ask and after a short scoot, my right hand in on your shoulder.  The circulator covers you with a heavy green sheet as I start to unsnap the sleeves on your gown.  She then places the safety strap over your hips.

 I position your left arm onto the arm board and place a strap over it.  I then attach the LR to the saline well that the pre-op nurse started in your forearm.  You feel the cool fluid entering your vein.  I take a few syringes from the tray on the anesthesia machine and turn to you with them.

 “Just a little something to help with your nerves.”

 You sigh, knowing that your heart is racing a bit – about 100 times a minute.  You then nod at me.  I take the first syringe, which you read the label as “FENTANYL 50mcg/ml”.  I screw it onto your IV and slowly start to inject 2 ml. As I finish the injection, about a minute later, you start to feel the medication helping you to calm down a little. You look a bit more relaxed, too. And your heart rate comes down into the 80s.

 I then turn my attention to getting the rest of the monitors on you.  I take the blood pressure cuff and place it on your right upper arm, then strap your arm to the arm board.  The cuff starts to inflate and get tight.  I then place the oximeter onto your right ear lobe and as soon as I do, the monitor starts to beep with each beat of your heart.

 “Ready to breathe a little oxygen?”

 As you nod, you hear me don a pair of gloves then take the black mask and attach it to the breathing circuit. I turn to the machine and dial the oxygen to 10.  You feel my gloved left hand under your chin, bringing it back just a little.  Then the mask comes into view and gets closer to your face.  As it touches the bridge of your nose, I smile under my mask.

 “Nice big breaths. That’s it.”

 I encircle your nose and mouth with the mask and hold it in place firmly, but gently.  As you breathe, the bag on the machine deflates with each rise of your chest and inflates with each fall of your chest.  After a minute or so, I bring the tails of the mask harness up and strap the mask to your face.

 I then take the second syringe which you read as “REGLAN 5mg/ml” and I screw it onto your IV and start to inject it into your IV fluid.  It takes me a couple of minutes to inject it.  You start to feel a bit drowsier.  As I finish it, the blood pressure cuff inflates again.

 I look back at the monitor and you seem to be a bit more relaxed.  Your heart rate is in the mid-70s, blood pressure looks great, and you look more relaxed than you did when I gave you the fentanyl.

 “Time for a little gas to help you relax a little more.  Keep with the nice deep breaths.”

 I turn back to the anesthesia machine and lower the oxygen to 5 and turn the nitrous to 5.  It takes a breath or two, but you start to smell the sweetness of the nitrous on top of the rubber of the mask.  You start to feel a little tingling at the ends of your fingers and toes.  With each breath, the tingling becomes more intense and travels up into your hands and feet.  And, your nose and face start to tingle too.  I’ve turned to the anesthesia machine and turned the nitrous to 7 and the oxygen to 3.

 “You’re doing really great, and it’s time to go odd to sleep.”  I rub your right shoulder.

 I reach back to the vaporizer and turn the sevoflurane to 4.  After a breath, you start to smell the lemony-chemical smell on top of the sweet rubber of the mask.  I let you take a few breaths, then turn the vaporizer up to 8.

 “Off to sleep now. Nice big breaths.”

 With your next breath, you seem to feel like you’re sinking into the table.  Even the ambient noises, like the instruments clanking together, seems to be further away.  You take another breath and that big light fixture above you looks like it’s moving a little.  Your eyelids get really, really heavy.  And with the next breath, your eyelids close.

 “See you in the recovery room.”

[nightfallfromgraces]

So the whole “Victorian doctors gave hysterical women orgasms” thing is closer to an urban legend than any certain truth. Even gynaecological massages to cure “nymphomania” and the like were not about the sexual satisfaction of the patient - on the contrary, some doctors apparently advocated that the techniques should even be uncomfortable or painful to the patient.

Which, of course, doesn’t lessen the potential.

Just… imagine, for a second. Your legs up on the stirrups and your waist strapped down so you can’t move an inch. There’s a sheet thrown over your knees and lower body, a facade of modesty, because you know that anyone who sits between your legs can absolutely see everything.

Imagine a doctor, obstinate and severe and very, very set on the idea that his patient shouldn’t feel even a modicum of pleasure, or even comfort, during his treatments - after all, that would just encourage your unhealthy and unnatural licentiousness.

“I won’t pretend that this will be pleasant for you. But do try to bear it with dignity,” he says coolly, as he snaps the gloves on his hands. It’s not to ensure safety and hygiene for you - he just doesn’t want his hands to come into contact with your lustful flesh.

He looks at you like you’d be a dead animal to be dissected as he reaches underneath the sheet, and you jolt when you feel his touch between your thighs. He runs his fingers down to your hole and feels around it, tracing its shape, clinical, yet without cruelty. It isn’t too bad. You make the mistake of sighing quietly in relief.

His disgust is clear enough what with the way his nose scrunches up and how he grimaces at you.

“Seems like I underestimated the severity of your affliction,” he hisses through gritted teeth. That’s the only warning you get before two of his long, thick, rubber-clad fingers are shoved inside you, violently. There’s a shadow of relief on his face when he hears your choked cry, more reminiscent of a victim of stabbing than a whore.

“There we go,” he says, and his tone is polite even as you whine and squeeze your eyes shut. His fingers pump in and out of your unprepared hole slowly, but with all the gentleness and care of a machine. The dry friction and your body’s obvious resistance hinder him none, and you can even hear him hum to himself when you let out a pathetic little sob.

“Now, to stabilize your errant womb…” he murmurs, and places one hand over your stomach while the other one focuses on feeling you up on the inside, much like one might feel the insides of something dead instead of the warm, whimpering thing that you are.

You cry out when something inside you breaks and stings, and you feel a warm, wet trickle of blood down your ass. The doctor glances down, and even through the tears in your eyes you can see him wear a wry smile. He gives you a half-hearted apology, something about how “your future husband probably won’t even notice”. And then, he starts to plunge his fingers into your bleeding cunt faster, as if urged on by your pathetic “pleases” and “nos” and “stops” in between the sobs.

He doesn’t realise when those gasps of yours stop being the results of pain. You don’t even realise it yourself - not until you notice, too late, that the anxiety-inducing stretch of it has calmed into a pleasant fullness, the worst burn of it turned into intoxicating warmth that sizzles at the bottom of your stomach. He presses his hand over your stomach, kneading your womb from the outside, and you suck in a sharp breath when the fingers inside you reach impossibly deep.

“There we go, at least the cervix is in the right place,” he nods, more to himself than to you. You can’t even recognize your own voice when he starts massaging you where no one, not even yourself, has ever touched. He sees the utterly terrified look in your wet eyes and smugly coos how “it’s okay, it’ll be over soon”, but you want to tell him to never stop, even as you can’t distinguish which part of the pressure in your cunt is pain and which is pleasure.

You break under it.

And when you come to, you realise his hands on you are frozen. He stares at you from behind his glasses with a look of horror that soon twists into loathing.

“Did you just come? Around my fingers?”

You don’t know how to answer. Your head is still swimming, your throat is hoarse and useless, but it’s the cold, suffocating fear that makes any sound die on your tongue.

“You are so much more ill than I had thought,” he spits out, and pulls his hands off of you in disgust. He grimaces when he sees the glistening, red-smeared slick on his once impeccably white rubber gloves. His eyes drift to the instrument table, and you begin to tremble, every last, lingering bit of the warm afterglow draining from you at the sight of all the nickel plated brass and steel.

“I see that curing you will require much more intensive treatments. Don’t expect to get out of this facility any time soon.”

[universityhealthcenter]

[andmybodytosurgeons]

“We need to go deeper, sweetie. You’re doing so good.”

[beeyearns-deactivated20251207]

thinking about a doctor going further and further, getting more and more inappropriate with me, while maintaining a completely professional tone.

normal breast exam morphing to playing with them, squeezing and twisting my nipples all the while telling me its important to test both nipples sensitivity.

checking my mouth turning into their gloved fingers in it, touching every spot, moving with curiosity closer to my throat. while i drool and gag, they reassure me that feeling for abnormalities has always been done like this and i'm doing so well.

after a regular vaginal exam they start to play with my clit, fingers wandering inside me. before long they insist, its always been important for a doctor to make sure i can cum.

thinking about a doctor casually violating me, trying to see what they can get away with...

[docjoss]

Surgery

[altars-of-desire]

I want to be examined have every part of my checked

I want to have a doctor examine my outer vagina

and then go inside sticking a finger and press on my tummy

I want a speculum inside me have them look at my cervix

I want to have my body used

[mabduct]

You are ready.

Everything that they had done to you led to this moment.

They silenced your protests with firm assurances that you would be well taken care of and that this was the best for you.

They pinned you down when you tried to get up.

They restrained your flailing arms to the arm boards when you fought.

And when you refused to quietened down, they muffled your screams with a black rubber mask, sealed tight over your cheeks.

Then they forced gas down your throat that made your will to fight melt away, like the rest of the room.

You gradually lost control of your body. Your limbs became lifeless. You could no longer speak, your eyes became unfocussed as your eyelids became too heavy for you.

"That's it... Sleep..." You heard them say as you felt your head being tilted back without resistance. Then darkness...

Now you are just a subject on the table, docile and ready, for them to "operate" on.

[secretmedblog]

Medkink but not in the body-modification breath-control inflation breeding kind of way, rather just straight up... Medical equipment and procedures with someone being strangely tender to the person being treated who also happens to be a little scared or adrenaline-y with anticipation. It's like sexual attraction to something not sexy at all, rather than the common BDSM-y sex with medical elements???

[darkestloves]

Always~ this is always such a fun little interest and desire of mine as well! Aces can have a lot of fun with Medfet without ever even dipping lower than the belt! (Not to say that going below the belt can’t be fun, depending on what’s being done…)