The Unwilling Heart

Dark cardiophilia fiction from Skemo

[theunwillingheart]

Punish My Heart

Every day I wake up and all I can think of is you, on top of me, stimulants racing through my system, as my heart pumps harder and faster. The feeling of it squeezing painfully in my chest, pumping so fast that it can barely shunt enough blood through my squirming body, turns me on like nothing else. I know my heart can't handle the stress, and somehow that makes me want you to punish it even more. I place a hand between my breasts, clutching my chest as I feel the ventricles pushed to the breaking point. I can barely breath as the IV feeds my heart, each drip pushing it closer to cardiac arrest.

It pumps, as another drop floods my system. It pumps impossibly fast, racing past 200 BPM as alarms fill our room. I'm gasping now, my lungs on fire as I try to keep my pump fed. You are working quickly, fingers deep inside me as my heart edges closer to failure. I can barely speak now, but you know what I need.

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[theunwillingheart]

Control

The first needle was the hardest. Though she was unconscious, the slow rise and fall of her chest made the need for precision absolutely critical. If I pushed too hard, I could easily shred her left atria. If I didn't push hard enough, my delicate and depraved process wouldn't be adequate to disrupt her pacemaker completely. Using an ultrasound machine, and years of study of the human heart, I was able to painstakingly pierce her atrioventricular node successfully. The needle pulsed slowly in time with her each contraction of her heart muscle.

After that I was able to smoothly slide the other 7 needles into their respective nodes. Navigating her ribs and her ample breasts made the work difficult, but patience is something I had an abundance of. I was finally in possession of a young woman with a beautiful, albeit defective heart, and I had no intention of squandering that gift. Jennifer came into my office a few days ago, a vivacious red headed thing with perfect 36C breasts and a dazzling smile. She had been traveling abroad, taking a summer off from University to travel the country. She had complained of chest pain during a recent hike and had stopped into the office for an examination. After troubling results from a holter monitor, I undertook a full ultrasound of her beautiful chest. I'll remember that day for the rest of life. As I slid the slick wand she quivered slightly as the gel danced around her left breast. I could not believe my eyes that a young woman as fit as her could have such a weak and diseased heart. Her left ventricle squeezed lazily with every pump, her valves hesitated with every breath she took. Her ejection fraction was no more than 30 percent, her heart was slowly dying within that beautiful chest of hers.

How long have you been having symptoms I asked, still entranced by the image of her failing heart pumping away on the ultrasound. She said she had been having chest pains and trouble breathing off and on for years, but she ignored it as she pursued a high pressure career. Stress, lack of rest, and a poor diet had slowly ravaged a heart that was in desperate need of intervention years ago.

As I finished wiring up her chest, I intubated her and flooded oxygen into her quivering lungs. She was finally ready. I took a step back to admire my handiwork, she was naked, splayed out, her arms and legs bound. I secured her head as the hiss of the ventilator metered the needs of her dying heart perfectly. The needles inserted in her heart swayed silently with every beat. Electrodes dotted her chest as an EKG read out a stable 60 BPM. I taped her eyes closed, she was nothing more than a vessel for a heart I was determined to ravage until it quivered uselessly in her chest.

I sat down at the machine, dialing in the first test. A simple stress test. She jerked slightly as a fed electricity directly into her pump, circumventing her pacemaker completely. Her heart rate dropped to 40 BPM. I walked around her, cupping her breasts and palpating her heart. I dug my hands between her tits and pushed, feeling her heart react slightly to the pressure, falling to 36 BPM before rising back to the stable 40 I had dialed in. She grunted slightly, gasping.

She was ready.

I dialed in 140 BPM.

She jerked against the restraints as she felt tingle of electricity dance in her chest. The ventilator kicked in to match as her heart began to race. She pulled against her bindings, her head moving ever so slightly as if every fiber of her being was trying to get away from this torture. Her lungs expanded faster and faster as sweat quickly poured over her.

The EKG read 140 BPM and I examined my patient. I took my hands and danced around her chest, feeling each agonizing pump of a heart pushed beyond its limits. 140 should be fine for a woman her age, but her heart was so damaged, that it felt as if she was running a marathon for hours on end. She gasped under her mask, trying to suck more air into lungs that could barely fill as fluid began to fill them. I was causing cardiac arrest. The idea of driving this beautiful woman into cardiac arrest filled me with pleasure unending as I took out my stethoscope to listen to her heart.

Squeezing, pumping, I could practically feel her engorged heart becoming overwhelmed with stress. Her aorta was swollen with blood as her ventricles desperately tried to move the oxygen she so desperately needed. The needles seized as her blood pressure sky rocketed. I flooded her with more oxygen, buying her more time as her heart stumbled but recovered, continuing its torrid pace.

For 10 minutes I watched as she tried to reach equilibrium, her head desperately trying to tell her heart to slow down. I fondled her breasts, and ran my hand across a body now soaked in sweat. I felt her heart kick in my hands as I pushed down on her chest. I felt her arteries and reveled in the damage I was doing to her heart. Patience however, was required.

I sat down again at the terminal and dialed in 60 BPM. She gasped for air as her heart abruptly slowed down. She drank in air as the ventilator squeezed as much oxygen as it could into her chest.

The first test was a success.

[onouwu]

A redheaded spy was caught snooping around the research camp! It was great for Viki though because she needed a subject to practice on.

Collab with @mrkillerovsky (Their character, Thes, being the subject)

[breathlessheartbeat]

Wow! Wow! Wow!

[theunwillingheart]

Under Pressure

It was easy to do, but it took months of work. She kept the bottle by the bed, and while she was at work I'd replace the pills. She was diagnosed with high blood pressure, and the thought of her heart pumping harder and harder, her arteries getting more rigid by the day, the muscle laboring inside her chest, was too much to resist. I replaced the pills with a concoction of my own making, a mix of chemicals that would slowly attack her heart muscle, making her heart work a little harder every day. A finger on the scale of her heart health. The impact took some time like I mentioned, but finally there were some signs. I'd see her take in a sharp breath occasionally, and place a hand on her chest. I asked her what was wrong and she said that her heart was skipping a beat or two. I'd smile and say it is probably nothing, but I was hard as a rock, thinking about fucking her into a heart attack. I'd stand by the door as she worked out on the bike, her breath coming in labored gasps as her heart raced. It took all my willpower to not enter the room, place a rough hand between her breasts covered in sweat, and feel that laboring heart struggling in her chest. Patience, however, was required.

After a few more weeks, she told me she was going to see her doctor soon. Her heart had been beating very irregularly, and even walking up stairs caused her to be winded. She was scared. I caressed her shoulder and told her that was a good idea, but I knew it was time to act.

That night I roused her from her sleep, she looked at me with her beautiful eyes as I began to play with her pussy. She smiled and took in a sharp breath as she became more and more aroused. It didn't take long for her to be in the throes of passion. I delicately played with her ample breasts, paying special attention to her left breast. Even with the lightest touch I felt her heart pumping hard beneath my hand. I imagined her heart beating hard, after months of abuse, the distended ventricles pushing a fraction of their previous volume. Her aorta snapping open and closed sluggishly, some of her life blood leaking back into the beleaguered organ. Her heart was mine, and I relished in pushing her to the brink.

My fingers teased her as I caused her heart to pump faster and faster. I picked her up and placed her on top of me, pumping to the pace of her diseased heart. She felt her heart skip a beat, and then another. I saw a flash of fear on her face, as I place my right hand between her breasts. It is OK I murmured, as I moved faster and faster. I needed her to work harder.

She was gasping for air now, her face twisted between passion and pain. I knew her heart couldn't take much more, that her overworked pump would soon give out completely. I worked harder, feeling each beat slap against her ribs and into my palm.

She could barely suck in a breath as she orgasmed, her eyes wide. I felt her heart kick once, pause, and then kick twice. She gasped as her heart stumbled in her chest.

I came hard as I felt her heart begin to fail.

I laid her down, as she tried to suck in another breath. I took out my stethoscope as she looked at me in confusion and panic. She could barely move as she arched her back, in a full panic as her heart began to fall out of rhythm.

I placed the earpieces in her ears and placed the bell on her aorta.

I told her to listen to her heart, listen as it fails completely. I told her to breath deep as her eyes tightened in pain. I placed an ear between her glistening breasts as I heard the most magnificent sound imaginable.

Her pump was barely functioning, blood squeezing weakly from her tortured ventricles. She was deep into heart failure, her pump barely in rhythm. After months of treatment, her heart was dangerously enlarged, the muscle's walls thick from the increased pressure. She was young, fit, beautiful, but in mere months I gave her the perfect heart I was after.

Her heart desperately tried to keep some semblance of a working rhythm. It stumbled sickeningly in her chest, exhausted, and barely squeezing enough blood to keep her conscious. She fought for each breath as I caressed her, listening to her heart struggle to survive.

She was incredible, despite all my machinations, her pump started to beat regularly again. She was barely conscious, but her heart was beating. I told her everything would be OK. She had so much left to give.

[theunwillingheart]

Close Examination Part I

Sometimes this job is incredibly tedious.  Every appointment seems to be some  bloated old man or woman, whose lifestyle choices for the last four decades have ravaged their heart, stumbles in complaining that their pump is failing.  We talk, I prescribe some statin, tell them they need to exercise more, eat better, and send them on their way.  I didn’t get into the esteemed profession of Cardiology to deal with such refuse, I got into Cardiology because I wanted to dominate people’s hearts.  Of course, I have these...urges, buried inside myself.  I’m accomplished, credentialed, a paragon of medical virtue, but within myself lies a darker side.  A side that his driven me to the pinnacle of my profession, but with every day that passes, it drives me closer to unraveling it all. 

It began when I was young.  I was smarter than most, clever, cunning, I could manipulate those around me as easy as tying my shoelaces.  The doe eyed people around me milled about, and I grew exasperated by their stupidity.  Incredulous of their penchant for squandering their lives on useless endeavors and small dreams.  I used these people.  Used them to get what I wanted, when their utility had run out I simply discarded them.  I became obsessed with finding new and interesting ways to achieve my aims, and for whatever reason, the human heart became the object of my obsession.   I became enamored with holding someone’s life in my hands, my skill in saving them, through my work I was their God.  The first time I held a beating heart in my hands I couldn’t get enough.  I remember the first time I “accidentally” nicked someone’s aorta.  Seeing them bleed out, the light draining from their form, it was exhilarating beyond belief.  I was a medical student and students make mistakes, I knew I couldn’t be so brazen in the future, and so I got better at it. 

I achieved residency, fellowships, and eventually I made my way to the head of Cardiology at a prestigious University.  I yearned to ply my trade, but I had a job to keep and money to make, so I buried my urges.  Until one day, I couldn’t hold them any longer.

She had arrived at the office for an examination.  She was a student at the school and had been experiencing bouts of breathlessness.  She would walk up a flight of stairs and have to stop to catch her breath.  She claimed she felt her heart pounding in her chest as she gulped down air, that it had never been like this before.

She was a pretty thing, 5′ 6″ 120 lbs, long red hair tumbled down her alabaster shoulders.  Striking blue eyes and a smile that lit the room, she had an ample chest and a tight toned body.  The picture of health.  I couldn’t help myself from destroying something so perfect.

I scheduled the exam to take place after hours, I booked an small examination room in a little-used wing of the hospital and told her to report their directly.  I told her her condition needed to be addressed immediately.

She arrived after class, wearing a tight black sweater and a short skirt.  Perfect.

I had her change into a hospital gown as I deftly locked the door behind me.  No one would be able to hear her scream. 

You could tell she was anxious, she fidgeted on the exam table as I asked her to describe her symptoms. 

It had begun a few months ago, during exercise her heart seemed to take forever to slow down.  She would be changing in the locker room and sweat would still be pouring off her as her heart galloped in her chest.  She would stand up from sitting and her heart would kick sickeningly, stumble before regaining a normal rhythm.  She felt tightness in her chest and it had gotten worse over the past few days.   

I listened to her heart, had her breath deeply as I examined each labored beat.  I untied her gown as I needed access to each place on her perfect chest.  She didn’t resist, my calming eyes and demeanor exuding trust and safety.  Her heart thumped underneath my palm.  Each contraction of her heart muscle thundered in my ears, her valves snapping open and shut and every tireless squeeze of her pump under my watchful hearing.  She breathed in and I heard her heart stumble slightly, a mis-fired beat shuddering through her chest.  She looked at me with a flash of fear in her eyes as she felt her heart skip and I assured it everything was going to be fine.  

Her heart was not fine.  Soon, I would make it my toy and revel as I pushed it into an exhausted mass of useless tissue underneath her heaving breasts. 

It was clear that she was in the late stages of a severe case of Cardiomegaly.  Her heart, either through some genetic flaw, or the bad luck of an infection gone awry, had become dangerously enlarged.  Her heart was working entirely too hard for a woman of her age and activity level.  As I listened I heard her dilated valves snapping sluggishly, her wonderful aorta must be dangerously close to being occluded completely.  I pictured her diseased heart thumping underneath that perfect frame, those breasts hiding a dying muscle that needed just the tiniest bit of nudging before collapsing into total failure.  I could barely contain my excitement as my hand ever so slightly brushed her erect nipple. 

I told her that everything sounded fine, but I needed to conduct a stress test to be sure.  She began to protest until I told her it would entail only a set of routine injections, she could lay down and relax and that she wouldn’t need to run on a treadmill (though that sight did intrigue me greatly). 

I had her lay down as I prepared the area.

I affixed a dozen EKG pads around her perfect chest, taking care to make sure every beat and contraction was captured correctly for my records.

I gave her an oxygen mask, carefully pulling the strap behind her silky hair. 

I told her to relax, that this was routine, and that she’d be done in a few minutes.

She trusted me, and I was ready to trade on that trust.

I flicked the EKG machine on to see a smattering of unsteady beats, her heart fueled by the anxiety of the situation.  110 BPM flashed on the monitor.  I disabled the alarms of course to keep the ruse of safety for as long as possible.

I expertly hooked her up to an IV and began the first drip of chemicals. 

I knew how wrong this was, how dangerous this would become, and every logical thought of restraint was replaced with a carnal desire for dominion that I could not hope to dissuade. 

She took a deep breath as the cold chemical reached her heart muscle.  It only took a few seconds for it to do its work.  Her heart labored hard in her chest as the mixture of accelerants caused it to speed up.

I admired her form as her breasts rose and fell faster, gulping down oxygen to meet the new needs of her racing heart.  The EKG read 145 BPM. 

My careful eye saw that even in this healthy range for a woman her age, her heart was struggling to meet the demands I had placed upon it.  It was pumping harder then it ought to be, its enlarged chambers flexing under the strain.  I could tell by looking in her eyes that part of her felt that this was wrong.  She turned her head to face me as she felt her diseased heart gallop inside her chest.  She asked if this was normal, this heaviness growing within her chest. I lightly caressed her hair, telling her that it was indeed expected. 

I placed a hand between the center of her breasts, entranced by the kicking I felt underneath my palm....

End of Part I

[theunwillingheart]

Unsatisfied

“Shock advised.”

God, things used to be so much simpler.  

At first there was the scene in a Temple of Doom, the image of Kate Capshaw trying to protect her heart is indelibly seared in my mind, the first sign that led to longer showers and a realization I was into something besides Becky in History class. Naturally, I began to sift through the internet, any morsel of content from CPR to Resus, medical journals, and ER dramatizations, anything to scratch the itch.  Finally, I stumbled on Heartbeatbabes.com and everything changed, I realized there were others out there into the same fetish I was, and I began to draw on a wellspring of beautifully amateurish heart content.  Then I found digital02, Opander, and read “Arresting Palpitations” a hundred times, but slowly, I became unsatisfied.  Gigs worth of content, videos that 10 years ago I would have built a monument to, barely moved the dial so to speak.  So, as breath holds turned into heart torture, I needed more and more to fill the space.  Anything to be satisfied for one more glorious moment.

She walked into my life at the perfect time, it started with some clumsy digital roleplay, but it slowly became a connection.  She too, had become unsatisfied.  She told me she was born with a bad heart.  She didn’t go into the exact details, but as she got older her heart had become increasingly taxed, too feeble to stand to the rigors of a normal life.  She told me of climbing stairs and feeling her heart pound incessantly. How she would be in the shower and the act of bending down could cause her heart to skip a beat.  She told me a story of going to gym class and barely being able to walk a mile without being cloaked in sweat, her throbbing heart stumbling in her chest.  Her parents got her on the transplant list, and despite it all she insisted on living a normal life.  She went to college, got medical exemptions for physical activity, and graduated with honors.  All the while her pump labored on, a ticking time bomb in her beautiful chest.  

The diseased pump inside her, knowing each labored beat could be her last had become her morbid fascination.  Instead of being fearful of the day it would finally give out, she embraced it with a macabre obsession.  She too had the same fetish I had.  She had dreams of being worked over in the ER, doctors pounding on her chest.  Her shirt being ripped open exposing the lacy bra holding her beautiful breasts.  Cutting it off, doctors splayed electrodes on her chest, while her heart leapt and fell like a dying bird between her seizing lungs.  

“Shock advised.”

I snap back to reality as her lifeless body lays before me, I smash the shock button as her body twitches, the current trying to revive her tired muscle.  Nothing.  Torn between a raging torrent of excitement and the rational explanation that I may have killed this woman, I take a fist and bring it down between her glistening breasts.

This beautiful figure, the fetishized form of perfection lays on the bed before me.  Electrodes cover her chest as an EKG whines, oxygen flowing from a mask affixed on her perfect face.  

The first meeting was awkward.  Months of chatting, some pictures being swapped, until we were both comfortable enough to meet.  I walked up to her first-floor apartment with a knot in my throat, unsure of what to expect and trying to convince myself that this wasn’t insane.  She opened the door, she was stunning.  I couldn’t believe a woman this beautiful could have a bad heart.

We exchanged a few awkward pleasantries, until she fumbled with her blouse and allowed me the privilege of listening to her heart.  At that moment, all the awkwardness melted away as we both realized we were finally getting what we both had lusted after for years.  Her heart sounded amazing, thumping away beautifully under her chest. It wasn’t long until we were ripping each other’s cloths off, losing ourselves in a moment we had only dreamed about.  Listening to her speeding heart as we made love was as close to perfection as I had come to, I heard it falter and skip as our labored ministrations taxed her pump. She reveled in the stress, and I reveled in pushing her to the limit.  We would lay entwined, exhausted, listening to her laboring heart together as it tried to regain a steady rhythm.  

For several of our “sessions” everything was perfect, but nothing gold can stay, and we both became unsatisfied with simple sex.  She wanted me to push her further, and I couldn’t resist the opportunity to abuse her failing heart.  The stimulants started simple, some extra strong coffee and a few jumping jacks. She would be covered in sweat, her chest heaving as I had my way with her.  I played with her heart, forcing it to beat faster and harder, starving her of oxygen and listening to her heart cry out.  I clutched her chest forcing her to listen to her dying pump.  She smiled as it danced closer and closer to outright fibrillation, somehow surviving our constant abuses.

We obtained supplies to help us indulge in our increasingly risky fantasies.  The pings of the EKG machine added another dimension as we both watched her pacemaker try to keep her heart beating normally as I ravaged her pump again and again.  We got an oxygen tank to keep her heart supplied with more fuel, more fuel to keep up it beating harder and faster.  We both knew what we were barreling towards.  Every night the line got closer and closer.  One evening she stopped breathing for a few seconds, her hands clutching her left breast as stabs of pain radiated throughout her naked chest. Stethoscopes in both of our ears, we listened as she was on the verge of cardiac arrest.  She winced as she felt her dying heart start to fail, a quick injection of a stabilizing agent (obtained through questionable means and a prescription pad pilfered from a local clinic) brought her back from the brink. She collapsed on the bed, one hand on the bell of the stethoscope and another on her oxygen mask, listening to her heart regain composure.  It was the best night of our lives.

Afterward we obtained an AED.  The first night, I affixed the pads to her chest, basking in this beautiful woman hooked up to all of these machines.  Wires keeping her alive and allowing us to listen to her beautiful heart as we began another “treatment” session.

Tonight was the third such session.

I began with a thorough auscultation, carefully hooking her up to the EKG.  I removed her bra and panties, and listened as her heart beat quickly within her chest.  I noticed that months of abuse had clearly damaged her heart.  Just resting, her heart rate was over 100 bpm, her breathing had become so labored that she needed oxygen around the clock.  I told her we needed to take it easy, allow her heart to regain some strength.  She promised to go to the cardiologist, and my mind rationalized that as enough as we both gave into our carnal demands.   I massaged her breasts as I explored every inch of her chest, the EKG pinging increasing as I sucked on her taut nipples. I couldn’t help myself as she asked for the first injection of adrenaline.

I injected it into her thigh as we both listened to her heart accelerate.  

120 turned into 140

140 into 160

She turned the oxygen tank to full and hungrily drank in the air as she listened to her heart beat out of control.  She was sweating now as I put a hand on her back, rocking her back and forth in an embrace as we listened to her heart try to keep up with the unsustainable demands we were placing upon it.  I held her, her heaving breasts tight against my chest as I felt her heart pump faster and faster.    

In the back of my mind I knew she couldn’t take another shot, looking at the EKG her heart was beginning to already exhibit signs of impending cardiac arrest.  It was barely pumping blood as it weakly squeezed again and again inside her chest.  She must have sensed the hesitation, because as I was lost in the sounds of her diseased heart, she grabbed the second needle, pushed me away and injected it right into her heart.  She jammed it with such force that I couldn’t stop her before she pushed the stopper. She looked into my eyes as she took the bell of my stethoscope and forced it under her palpitating left breast. The sound was unlike anything I had heard before.

I couldn’t count the beats as the valves of her heart opened and closed with so much speed as to be rendered useless.  It was not more than 10 seconds before I heard the first hard skip.  She gasped and clutched her chest as the first wave of erratic beats racked her chest.  Her breathing hesitated as she felt the familiar stabs of pain radiate down her arms and back. All I could do was listen and watch as this beautiful woman sunk deeper and deeper into cardiac arrest.  She was laying back in the bed one hand on the bell of my stethoscope and the other on hers.  She looked at me, a flash of fear crossing her face as her heart skipped again, this time it couldn’t regain a normal rhythm.  She stopped breathing as I heard her heart gyrate uselessly in her exhausted chest.

“Shock advised.”

I turned my head as the din of the EKG showed her heart in the throes of fibrillation.

I pushed the button and her chest twitched, her arms flailing uselessly at her side.

I brought my weight down on her chest, pumping her dying heart with my hands, watching her sweaty breasts bob up and down as I pushed her heart harder and harder.  Little gasps of air escaping her lungs as I compressed her chest again and again.

“Shock advised.”

I removed my hands and pressed the red button again.

A larger shock tore through her chest.

A breath.

She gasped as life somehow returned to her face.  The EKG sprung back to life, registering a weak, but stable heart rate.

She looked up and smiled. In that moment we were both satisfied, but we both knew it wouldn’t last.

[theunwillingheart]

It Was Just a Cold

She couldn’t shake this cold.  Granted, the constant partying, class, and overall poor eating habits didn’t help, but for some reason she couldn’t recover.  She thought she was healthy, despite the aforementioned activities, she worked out regularly and she had no problem turning the heads of the Undergrads dotting the Quad.  It had been three weeks, finally she thought she would sweat it out.  She knew she was getting out of shape, and maybe getting back on the treadmill would help her finally shake it.  She ran to make her Math 101 class last week and could barely catch her breath running up the stairs.  She has noticed she has had trouble catching her breath, seemingly innocuous things like walking uphill, or carrying her books caused her to breath heavily.  Her heart had been feeling the stress as well. She noticed it pounding, and she realized it had been skipping beats more often than usual.  A random thump and hesitation of the muscle woke her up last week. She didn’t know why, but she was sweating, her heart suffering random bouts of tachycardia in the middle of the night.

Despite all of that, she chocked it up to her busy life and the overall stress of succeeding at a preeminent University.  It was Friday and she woke up early, determined to get back on the treadmill.

It was very early in the morning as she made her way to the gym, it was quiet.  She slipped on her sports bra and shorts and made her way to the second floor.  She knew most people were sleeping off the hangover from last night festivities, as she jumped on her favorite treadmill in the empty room.  

She started out slow, working into a slow jog.  The heart rate monitor on the treadmill registered a brisk 140 beats.  Frowning, usually her heart rate didn’t get that high until she had run for a few minutes.  She was really out of shape, and she kicked herself for not getting back to the gym earlier.

After a few minutes she decided to pick up the pace.

A slow jog turned into a run as she ramped up the intensity.  

Her breathing became shallow as she struggled to keep up the pace, but she was determined to fight through it as visions of her gaining five pounds danced in her head.  

After five minutes she was already soaked in sweat, covering her chest as the stress on her heart continued to build.

She didn’t know it, but the sickness that she had contracted had made its way to her heart muscle, attacking it relentlessly for the past two weeks.  She was strong, young, and her heart was in great shape, but the virus had been relentless.

Her heart had become inflamed, its pumping capacity driven downward as the virus had attacked her valves and chambers.  She didn’t know, but her heart was pumping at a fraction of its usual volume, her valves occluded as the virus took its toll.

It explained the shortness of breath, the bouts of tachycardia and erratic beats.  Her heart was struggling to fight off the virus, and it was clearly losing.  In her chest, within the pericardiac sac, her heart was struggling to survive.

Day to day activity had already taxed her heart, and any additional stress would continue to compound the issue.  Pumping harder and faster, the inflamed heart was beginning to fail.

She yanked the emergency stop on the treadmill as her lungs burned.  She had nearly fallen as twenty minutes of running had her almost stumble. Her chest heaved for oxygen as she couldn’t pull in enough air.  Her hands on her hips, she desperately tried to calm herself down, to slow the frantic thrashing of her heart.  Her thin frame physically buckled as her pounding heart had begun to spin out of control.  What air she could pull in through her ravaged lungs was not nearly enough, as she began to fill dizzy.

This wasn’t right.

It wasn’t that she was out of shape.

She was dying.

She clutched her chest as the first stab of pain ripped through her ribcage, it brought her to her knees as she weakly grabbed the treadmill rails.  Sweat pouring off her frame, she felt her heart sickenly kick, as a string of erratic beats rattled her chest.

Inside, her heart was too damaged to survive.  Her pacemaker attempted to keep a normal rhythm, but the muscle betrayed her as her valves misfired and blood began to pool in her beleaguered chambers.  The virus had won.

She gasped as she felt her fingers and toes become cold.  Lying prostrate on the treadmill she realized no one was coming to save her, she was slipping into cardiac arrest and they wouldn’t get to her in time.

She pulled in another ragged breath, her hands with a vice grip on her breasts as she felt her heart slow and stumble, trying in vain to regain a healthy rhythm.  

She pulled in one more breath as her vision darkened, her chest growing quiet as her heart began to descend into a twitching mess, unable to pump life through her young body.

[theunwillingheart]

Simulated Terror

Sarah was much like many college students her age.  Poor. She did well in her studies in the Fine Arts department at the local University, but they have not yet yielded any monetary benefits.  It was the dead of summer and Sarah wanted more than anything to take a trip to the beach with her friends.  They would be leaving in a few weeks, and Sarah would need to gather a significant sum of money so she could go with them.  She was waiting tables at the coffee shop in her town, but it didn’t make her enough to go on the trip.  

 Late one night she scoured the local Craigslist ads, looking for a way to make some quick cash. Yawning, she hadn’t had much luck. Sarah was an earnest, attractive, 20 year old student.  She wanted more than anything to succeed in her studies, and hopefully parlay her success into a designer job in the city.  She took great care in her physical appearance.  She worked out almost every day, running almost 5 miles every morning.  She was incredibly toned and fit, a large set of 34C breasts sat on her slender frame. She was not naïve, and knew that her body had led to increased tips at the coffee shop and more than a few unsolicited advances.  She was begging for an opportunity to show off her body at the beach, when she came across a random ad.

 “Cardiologist looking for a young, fit individual between the ages of 18 and 25 for cardiac exams.  Must be in top physical shape, depending on subject, willing to pay $500 for less than 3 hours of tests.”

 The ad gave her pause. Random solicitations for tests on Craigslist didn’t seem like the safest way to make money.  However, the ad also featured a link to his bio on a leading University hospital website.  He wasa board certified surgeon, and the address was not in a sketchy part of town. Sighing, she filled out a quick e-mail and went to bed.

 The next morning she received a very short, but professional sounding e-mail from the cardiologist in question.

 “Yes I still am looking for appropriate subjects.  The tests are non-invasive and are centered on my research into cardiac organs in peek physical form.  Based on your e-mail you may be an excellent subject.  Please make an appointment with my secretary.  I look forward to meeting you in person.”

 She made the appointment for a day she had off.  She made her way to his office and went inside.  It was clean, well-lit, and resembled any other doctor’s office she had been across.  Though she had driven to the appointment with a bit of trepidation, the office assuaged her anxiety.  She walked up to the receptionist and told her she was here to see the doctor.

 The receptionist was in her mid 40s, well-groomed and professionally attired.  “Yes, the doctor is expecting you.  Please take a seat and he will be with you shortly.”  As she sat down, she could have sworn that the receptionist was smirking, but it must have been her imagination.  She leafed through a Reader’s Digest waiting for the doctor to arrive.

 “Ms. Roberts is it?” A confident, deep voice addressed her. Sarah looked up to see the doctor leafing through her paperwork.  He was young, bright, and supremely confident.  Handsome.  Sarah shifted in her seat.

 “Yes doctor.”  She rose and shook his hand.

“Excellent, my name is Doctor Livingston.  Mrs. Anderson her has filled out your file and I’m ready to begin.”  He led Sarah down a narrow hallway into a large consultation room.  He motioned for her to sit on the table.  The office featured a number of model hearts and charts, a few stethoscopes and a blood pressure machine.  Nothing out of the ordinary.

 “So doctor, what kind of tests will you be conducting?”  He looked at her warmly,

 “Nothing too crazy, I need some additional data points for my study on strong, well functioning heart muscles.  A few listens of your heart, an ultrasound, and a quick EKG should be all we need to do.” Sarah took a deep breath, nothing too terrifying.  “Based on your e-mail you said you have a cardiac workout 5-7 times per week.  Is that correct?”

 “Yes doctor, I run around my neighborhood almost every day.”

 “Good, perfect.” He adjusted his glasses as he put on the stethoscope around his neck.  “Now I’m going to have to listen to all the areas of your heart.  Please remove your bra and change into this gown. Knock when you are ready.”  He left the room as Sarah quickly changed into the gown, the quicker she was, the faster she’d be home, 500 dollars richer. She knocked on the door and after a short pause, the doctor entered.  

 “Now just relax. I’m going to listen to your heart to get an idea of how strong and efficient it is.”  Sarah took a deep breath as the doctor began to listen to her pump.  

 Closing his eyes the doctor explored all the regions around her heart.  Her heart was slow and strong, pumping effortlessly.  The valves opened and closed in perfect harmony.  No sign of any murmuring or other cardiac defects. It accelerated slightly as he moved the bell below her left breast, but quickly returned to slow, methodical pace. After 5 minutes, he was satisfied with what he had heard.  This heart will do nicely.  Clearing his throat, “Perfect, your heart sounds fantastic.  You have a very slow resting heart rate, clearly you are in great shape.”  

 Sarah smiled, “Thanks! I’m glad all that running in circles makes a difference!”

 “Indeed it does. Now, just lay back and relax. We’re going to do a quick EKG and ultrasound and you’ll be on your way!”  Sarah laid back as the doctor wheeled in the EKG and ultrasound.  He opened up her gown, making sure to project a professional demeanor as he caught a glance of her large breasts.  He covered the left side of her chest in electrodes.  He then attached a small ultrasound wand and booted up both machines.  The room was filled with slow, sharp pings as the EKG read the electric impulse controlling her pumping heart.  In was beating just under 50 beats per minute.  The ultrasound confirmed everything he heard. Her pumping heart was a perfect cardiac specimen.  A perfectly synchronized cardiac cycle and strong forceful beats.  “Beautiful isn’t it?”  As he gazed upon the screen.

 Sarah turned to watch the slow methodical pumping of her heart.  “Yeah it’s pretty cool, to get to see my heart beating like that.”  She looked intently at the image, seeing each atrium quiver and each ventricular contraction.  It was an amazing thing to watch.  She was shaken from her daydream by a sharp prick on her arm.  She turned to see the doctor emptying a syringe of clear liquid.

 Before she could cry out, her world went black.

 Sarah didn’t know how long she was out.  It could have been 3 hours or 3 days for all she knew.  The world slowly returned to focus as she tried to regain her bearings. She was on her back, on a table of some sort.  A mask pushing in cool air covered her mouth and nose.  The room looked different than the doctor’s office.  She heard sharp pinging sounds.  She tried to lift her head, but could not.  She was strapped down.  The reality of the situation began to be pieced together by her groggy mind. She was trapped and for some reason she couldn’t cry out.  She tried to get up, but it was of no use.  She began to panic.

 The pinging sounds that filled the room increased.

 “Ah, I see that you have awoken.  I wasn’t sure how long you would be out.  The operation is very…involved and I was worried that you had suffered some sort of mental trauma.”  He saw that Sarah was trying to speak.  “Don’t try to speak dear, there is a tube down your throat pumping oxygen into your lungs.  Believe me, you’ll be glad to have it soon.”  He laughed as he came into her vision.  He lightly stroked her hair as he saw the look of pure terror on her face. “Now now, you’re doing a tremendous thing for science.”  Sarah was gasping for air as her heart began to hammer in her chest.  She looked at the ceiling and realized it was a mirror. She was naked.  Restraints on her arms, feet, and head.  There were large stiches up and down her chest.  As she saw her naked body she felt a dull ache in her chest.  

 The doctor’s voice interrupted the now rapid series of pings that filled the chamber.  “Sarah my dear you are indeed going to be a key footnote on the road to scientific progress.  Your wonderful heart will be studied for generations!”  He clapped his hands as her laid the bell of his stethoscope on her quivering chest.  “So loud, and so strong!  Your heart is a marvel of organic machinery!  I must see how hard I can work it.”

 He wheeled a monitor stand with a slender LCD display.  He bent it so Sarah could see it out of the corner of her eye.  It was blank.  “My dear, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.  I’ve opened your chest.  Believe me, the ultrasound did not do it justice.  After I peeled back your pericardium I held your amazing heart. It pumped happily in my hand as I examined its perfection.  Of course I had to stop it to install all the devices, but after one small shock it was back in action, none the worse of wear.”

 “Now you may be wondering what I plan to do, and frankly I couldn’t be more excited to tell you!” He clapped his hands as he bent down to her ear, placing a gloved hand between her breasts.  “You see I installed a series of devices that allows me to control every facet of your heart’s activity.  How fast it beats of course, but even beyond that.  I can control how hard it pumps, how ‘open’ your valves are and more.  Basically, with my devices I can control every precious beat of your pumping organ.”

 “What I can do with this ability is amazing.  I simulate any activity I can dream up and how it affects your heart.  Confusing I know.  Luckily, I made a visual simulation that we can watch to see what is going on.  It will all make sense in a moment!”  He walked away quickly.  Sarah heard him tapping away on a keyboard.  Sarah didn’t know what to do.  She was slave.  This bastard had drugged her, attached devices to her heart, and left her helpless to resist.  She thought of home, her safe apartment, and how stupid she was to answer that ad.

 Her thoughts of home were jarred out of existence, as she saw the monitor on her left begin to turn on. It was a computerized display of a woman.  She was walking down a wooded path.  A sharp pain quickly pierced her chest as she felt something move inside her ribcage. Her heart immediately slowed down from its frenetic, terror-filled pace.

“As you may have noticed” The doctor’s voice called out from behind his desk, “That your heart is mimicking exactly what you are seeing.  A woman going into the woods on a leisurely stroll.  Everything that would happen to this woman’s heart will happen to yours.  Right now, everything is calm, lets try something a little more taxing shall we?” He pressed a few keys as the woman began to jog.  

 Sarah saw the computerized woman break into a light jog.  The woods began to move faster as she began to lightly jog forward.  Her heart slowly began to pump faster.  The EKG read a brisk 110 bpm.  Her breathing began to increase to meet the demands of her pump.  She was used to a pace much more vigorous than this and easily was able to keep up with the woman on the screen.  However, she definitely began to run faster.

 The doctor came over to Sarah and stood over her slowly rising and falling chest.  He placed a hand below her left breast as he felt her heart pick up speed.  The operation went perfectly, the EKG was clean and the heart scaled perfectly to the runner on the screen.  With his other hand he slowly turned up a small dial.  The woman began to run.

 Sarah saw the figure move faster as the movement within her chest became more rapid.  Whatever unnatural additions he had made to her heart were regulating its beating.  Her heart began to pump faster.  The pings of the EKG became closer together as her heart rate jumped to 160.  She began to breath faster as the demands on her heart increased.  She felt the machines squeezing and gyrating, manipulating her heart to match the runner’s now breakneck speed.  She began to feel out of breath as the runner bolted forward.  

 The doctor looked at the EKG and saw that Sarah’s heart began to exhibit signs of distress.  Though the EKG registered everything within a healthy range, it was clear that the stress on her heart was causing it to not beat as perfectly as before.  He looked down to see Sarah squinting, trying to supply her heart with the fuel it needed to maintain its rapid pace.  185.  Sarah was struggling to breath now, to supply her heart with enough precious oxygen to maintain this pace.  He listened to the struggling heart as the figure seemed to be running impossibly fast now.  205.  210. Sarah was beginning to tire.

 The EKG pinged at an incredible rate as Sarah’s heart flailed away inside her chest.  She would not be able to maintain this pace for much longer.

 Sarah’s lungs burned as she began gasping for air.  The devices inside her chest were squirming rapidly, squeezing and shocking her heart. It felt as if thousands of tiny bugs were ravaging her chest.  She begged for it to stop, the gasping, the impossible heart rate.  She couldn’t take much more.  After a moment she felt a quick stabbing pain radiate inside her cardiac muscle.  It was beginning to weaken.  She was struggling to breath as the machines inside her chest were squeezing the life from her heart.  Just as she was about to pass out the runner abruptly stopped, hands on her knees, her chest rising and falling quickly.

Sarah hungrily breathed in and out as her heart began to slowly break from its frantic pace.  

 After a few minutes the pain in her chest subsided, the machines relaxed their grip upon her beleaguered heart.  

 “Well, I would say you did quite well!”  The doctor took a small towel and dried up the sweat covering her chest and head. “Another minute and your heart would have given out, but even so, you did much better than I expected.”  He smiled as he dabbed the last drops of sweat from her forehead.

 Though Sarah hated this man with a burning passion, she was grateful the test was over.  Her lungs no longer burned, and her pumping heart was now in a much calmer state.  Before she could recover, another jolt racked her heart, opening her eyes she saw a much different image on the screen.

 A woman was sitting down at a table, reading a book of some sort. Though she was just resting, Sarah felt a few stumbles radiating from her heart.  The figure in the program put down the book and rubbed her chest. As she did, a few more irregular beats ran through Sarah’s heart.  For a few more minutes she watched the figure, her chest rising and falling quicker and quicker.  Sarah began to feel a dull ache in her chest as the figure rose to get a drink of water. Her chest felt tight as the machines began surrounding her heart yet again.  Each pump of her heart felt like a struggle.  Though she was only standing at the counter, it felt as if her heart was besieged.  

 The doctor listened intently as the scenario played out before him.  Sarah’s blood pressure spiked as he heard her heart beat harder and faster.  The EKG read a series of abnormal beats as Sarah’s heart struggled to beat effectively. He could see that Sarah was beginning to have trouble breathing.  He looked closely and saw the machines he implanted working feverishly beneath her chest, manipulating each precious beat, each gyration of her cardiac muscle. A cold sweat covered her chest as Sarah’s breathing became more and more labored.  

 Sarah squinted as a lance of pain radiating in her chest.  The figure was now slumped over the counter, her hand clutching her chest. She could see she was struggling to breath, as Sarah’s own lungs were struggling to inflate.  She felt as if she was drowning, each subsequent breath brought upon a new wave of piercing pain.  Her hands opened and closed rapidly as she wanted to clutch her own chest in pain.  The machines inside her chest were pressing on her beleaguered arteries, preventing her heart from beating properly.

 Each second felt like an eternity as she struggled to take another breath.  More and more pain radiated through her chest, down her arms and back.  The figure in the image was now slumped on the floor, weakly grabbing her chest. Her heart was barely beating now. It felt as if each contraction of her heart muscle barely pumped any blood.  Her lungs could only quiver the feeling of drowning slowly overtaking her. She began to lose consciousness as the figure in the image was splayed on her back, her hand resting on her still chest. She could not breathe.  Before she lost consciousness she felt the machines inside her chest squeeze one last beat from her dying pump.   Darkness.

[theunwillingheart]

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Been lurking on here for awhile now and I’ve come to the conclusion that the most robust cardiophile community is here.  Trying to get back into writing, will post some of my old stories here and hopefully some new ones as well!