I got a defib shock of 10 J, however, this time I managed to get a recording of my heartbeat during the process. I had a brief arrhythmia immediately following the shock. Felt AMAZING! Fellow user Klem74 was the one administering the defibrillation
“Patient File 12045, Cardiac response to various stimuli,” The Doctor announces to the medical students watching from the lecture hall above. The mask over his face obscures his features, leaving only his eyes to pierce into yours as he circles your laying form like a hunter stalking his prey.
The harsh hospital lighting assaults your eyes, making every sensation all the more intense as you attempt to get your bearings in the new environment. You try to move your limbs only for them to stop short against the leather restraints pinning them to the examination table, your arms outstretched and your legs pried open. The sudden rapid beeping of an ecg monitor lets you know of your own hearts excitement and fear at the situation, only going faster once you process the cold sensation of the sterile air on your bare skin, nipples hardening.
“Take note of the patient’s vitals as he comes out from the sedative, even without any outside stimulants the heart begins to pound away from the body’s fear response,” He says matter-of-factly as he takes his gloved hand and trails it up your leg to your stomach, then finally settling over your heart. The tips of his fingers pinch and swirl around your nipple, causing you to let out an involuntary moan that makes him chuckle, “Take note of any involuntary responses to the stimuli.”
The doctor continues on with his work, the crowd of students seemingly disappearing into the background as he begins setting up a pair of AED pads onto your chest, “Don’t worry,” he coos, watching your heart rate jump from 120 to 145, “We won’t begin with electrical stimulation just yet…” Turning away from you, he grabs three 20 gauge needles and holds them up for the crowd to see, “I will be starting with the insertion of 20 gauge needles into the left and right ventricle of the patient’s heart.”
The doctor returns his attention to your helpless form and positions the first needle near the apex of your heart. With a gentle push, the cold metal slides in like butter into the thrashing organ, quickly followed by the second and third needles. You can feel a tightness spread across your chest as your heart attempts to compensate for the metals disrupting its rhythm. The ecg monitor reads out a series of skips and pauses, your heart speeding up then slowing down as it tries to find its footing again.
“Patient heart rate has risen past 150, though seems to be recovering quickly.” He states coldly as he turns on the AED, inputting his desired settings before making eye contact with you, “Let the electrical stimulation proceed at 160 bpm.”
With the flip of a switch your heart lurches forward, your whole body jolting from the intensity of the pace the doctor has set for you. Every squeeze, every beat of your heart sends heat down to the pit of your stomach and you can’t help but writhe and moan pathetically beneath the gaze of the crowd. You can feel the slick start to leak out from your hole and your cock begin to throb with every shock to your heart.
“Now increasing the pace to 170bpm…”
Your breaths come in short, labored pants, your pump begging for oxygen. Off to the side, you see the doctor fiddling with a syringe and a vial, the imagery causing your heart to fibrillate for just a moment before the pacemaker forces it back to submission.
“Administering .4mg of epinephrine straight into the heart.”
A wave of coldness spreads throughout your heart, making it shiver in the process as the epinephrine floods your chambers. Immediately your heart takes off to the races, the ecg monitor sounding off alarms as your heart peaks past 185bpm. You’re lightheaded now, the edges of your vision blurring and your body shaking with every thrash of your pump. You can definitely feel how wet you are just from how hard your cock is pulsing with desire.
“Patient’s heart continues to pound away despite the cocktail of stimuli assaulting his organ, current bpm 190,” He looks on at you with quiet admiration, enjoying the sight of your wriggling figure and your hard cock, “Time for one last push, my dear.”
With swift movements a gas mask is placed over your face, a bottle of poppers attached to the end of it, leaving your only source of air to be the intoxicating fumes of the bottle. From your first breath of the bottle, you’re left moaning in ecstasy as you feel the sensation of your blood vessels widening and your blood pressure dropping rapidly. Your wrists and ankles pull taught on your restraints, your back arching off the table as your O2 levels quickly begin to spiral.
“That’s right my dear, let’s finish off this beautiful heart of yours,” The doctor practically groans himself, his own arousal straining against the confines of his pants. His hand finds its way to your aching cock and strokes it to the rhythm of your failing heart.
200…210…230… your heart no longer beating but instead turning into a quivering mess as the doctor pushes you over the edge. Your body convulses on the table as you begin to seize, eyes rolling into the back of your head and your breathing coming in choked gasps. Everything feels too hot and too cold at the same time, the beeping of the ecg monitor too loud yet far away in your ears. The last sound you’re able to process is the thunderous roar of applause from the audience before your consciousness fades away and your body becomes limp.
“Amazing,” The doctor announces, taking in your unconscious form, “now, who would like to volunteer to resuscitate the patient?”
should NOT have opened this at work. Holy shit. holy SHIT
i will be rereading this at least 5x per day for the foreseeable future thank you so much for taking the time and effort to write it
I wanted to try something related to resus. It's a small thing, but I hope you like it~
I also found it interesting that, even though they are "immortal" (because Bellmont is too hehe), they need to die in order to heal. Ironic, but entertaining 🐇
Splitter's newest captive has fallen ill. Features F resus, multiple M rescuers, pregnant CPR, semi conscious CPR, mouth to mouth, agonal breathing, magic defibrillation, size difference.
A commotion raised in the pens. The newest herd of dark elves from the last raid had been loaded into quarantine to ensure they didn't have anything that might be catching, anything that might be of danger to the Horde. Usually these small sections of camp were full of wailing, but the sweltering afternoon was instead full of voices shouting, hands grasping for passing guards.
"Splittah!" one of the others called, "They're fussin' o'er one of the ca'tle!"
Splitter tipped his hand against the blade at his belt. As he drew nearer, he saw the women's pen, densely packed with willowy bodies, had made a circle around the center. Standing a full head and shoulders above the tallest elf there, he roughly shouldered his way to the clearing. The problem was made immediately obvious. Three women surrounded a fourth, propping her up as she seemed too weak to even sit up on her own. One of the women fanned her, another was dribbling water over her bloodless face. She was practically white, rather than the lilac hue of most of her race. They were all babbling in the elvish tongue, a language he had trouble understanding if it was spoken too fast. He gathered little else other than she was sick. One of the women was slapping her own chest, ardently repeating, "Heart, heart! Her heart!" Then in an exasperated huff, "Bloody barbarians, they can't even understand us!"
The larger orc grunted as he drew nearer. The sick one was a pretty thing, if a bit small. Her head was lolled back against her companion's shoulder, her eyelids weakly fluttering, sweat gleaming on her brow. In the loose garb of the prisoners, Splitter could make out the round bump of her belly. The Horde didn't often take pregnant women, they offered only another mouth to feed and they were fragile liabilities even before then. Normally she would have been left for the vultures in whatever village they'd plucked her from. Perhaps their captor hadn't noticed. Splitter would have to check amongst the raiding party to find who was responsible for the oversight.
Still, now that she was here, honor dictated she be taken care of. He knelt in front of her, wrapped his hand around her throat so his thumb rested on her pulse point. The crowd gasped and shouted, some of the women who'd been tending to her immediately leapt up, one even tried clawing at his wrist. "Don't hurt her!" she screamed. Splitter rolled his eyes and easily shoved away the interference. He didn't have any intention to, nor would be explain himself to cattle. He focused only on the erratic pulse throbbing in her slender neck. It was fast, too fast for a woman at rest, and he could feel the stuttering half-beats interrupting the regular flow of blood. Pressing an ear to her chest, he could hear it reflected there as well. Her heart wasn't beating properly.
Splitter grunted in irritation. The last thing he needed was a sick, breeded sow. The Horde had enough to deal with as it was. He had enough to deal with. But Yorgoth demanded civility of them at least in this- prisoners were to be given food, water, and medicine. So he ignored the protests of the gathered dark elves as he hauled the woman into his arms and stood with her cradled against his chest. Hands scrabbled for him as he moved through the pen, women trying to grab at the pregnant one and pull her free. A few were screaming a name. 'Cira'. Evidently she was well known in their village, practically everyone wailed for her. Even outside the women's pen, one of Splitter's men was holding a male elf against the mud as he fought and bellowed.
"Cira! Cira!" The elf locked eyes with Splitter as he passed, his face paling. He renewed his struggle, scrabbling against the hands holding him down. "Don't you touch her! You bastards! She is the mother to my child, she is my mate- Cira! Cira, please, open your eyes!" Splitter cast the grief stricken man only a glance as he passed on the way to his tent.
Inside, he laid her down on his furs. She breathed in short, noisy gasps now, her silver hair sticking to her face with sweat, her body damp. Splitter knelt at her side as he began tearing away the simple dress hugging her curves. It split easily under his hands, first revealing her milk swollen breasts, jerking with every halting breath, then her gravid belly, and at last the smooth expanse of her thighs. His gaze snagged for only a moment on the crop of white hair framing her pretty cunt. Like most dark elf females, she bore both the parts of a woman and a man. If she hadn't been bearing another man's pup, he might've enjoyed making a war bride of her. She was gorgeous, even in the grips of this sickness. Gently, he laid a hand on her chest, curving his thumb under one of her heavy breasts to feel her pulse limp along. His hand was big enough it covered most of her sternum, her heart stammered against his palm. On the brink of stopping. The faltering cadence would only last so long before it finally gave out. His brow furrowed.
"Come now, rabbit," he murmured in the quiet space, "Keep beating." To aid it in this endeavor, he ground the heel of his palm against her chest in a slow, deep rhythm, trying to match the faltering beats he felt tapping against his fingers. His other hand he laid over her stomach, ensuring he still felt the pup's heartbeat as well. That, at least, was decidedly stronger than the mother's. He rubbed a thumb over the curve of her stomach in a perhaps futile effort to comfort the life within. It must have been frightening, feeling the body keeping you alive begin to fail. He felt an odd sense of not wanting to scare the little thing as he ran his fingertips over the taut skin protecting it.
All of this he did as tenderly as he could, knowing he could have cracked her bones if he pushed with even a third of his real strength. He rocked his arm against her chest, trying to maintain a depth of only a few inches. This proved harder than if he'd had to put any of his strength behind the compressions, as his muscles tensed, trying to hold back.
Cira made little noises each time he pushed against her ill heart. Air squeezed from her lungs, she grunted in quiet pain, her lips parted with a gravely moan. After a few minutes of these slow compressions, she weakly pat the large hand squeezing her heart against her spine. "Please," she whimpered in a daze.
"I know," Splitter said quietly in her tongue, a language that always felt ill suited for his mouth, "Just hold on." "Hurts," she whimpered, her delicate fingers curled halfway around his thick wrist. "I'm sure it does. But I'm helping your heart beat." She shuddered under his hand, her eyes rolling up to meet his. They were dull with pain and foggy, yet still she held his gaze. "Why," she whispered, "Why are you... helping me..." Splitter continued slowly working his palm against her sternum, like he was gingerly kneading dough. "My god demands it," he answered simply. His eyes flicked to her stomach. "And I do not think either of you deserve to die." Cira took another shallow sip of air. "I've been... dying since I was born... My mother told me m-my heart was ... just too gentle for this world." Her words came out in grunts everytime he drove his hand into her chest, forcing air out of her body. The corner of his mouth quirked. "It does seem like quite the wilted flower," he chuckled, continuing to massage his broad hand in between her round breasts. She huffed a laugh, her pale lashes fluttering. Then her features began to dull.
"Keep talking to me, Cira. What was your mother's name?" Splitter urged. Her lips, losing their color, barely moved as she rasped, "Dina..." "Dina," he repeated, forcing her ribcage down a little deeper, "My mother's name was Menthra. Mine-" He hesitated, eyes flicking over her face. He didn't know why he felt compelled to tell her this, but he went on, "Mine is Agonem. The camp calls me Splitter." Cira winced as his next compression shifted her ribs near to the point of breaking.
Her chest bucked as she drew in a laborious sip of air. He watched as her eyes began to grow unconfused, her hand starting to slip. He surged forward and pressed harder against her heart. "No, no, Cira, stay with me. Hey, look at me-" He grasped her chin with his free hand and tipped her head up towards his face. No use. A sigh leaked from between her parted lips, and he felt her heart as it shuddered out a few more uneven beats, then went still in her chest. Ruby eyes stared sightlessly up at him.
Splitter huffed, double checking his fears with an ear pressed against the valley between her breasts. Nothing. No rasping breaths, no heartbeat. He rose back up and balled his hand into a fist. Again he strained to use just enough force to bend her without breaking. He brought his fist down with a hollow thump against her breastbone. Her breasts swayed, her head jerking with the force of the blow. Another. Her head dipped down and rolled to the side. Again. The solid thwack reverberated through the space. Still nothing.
With no response, he again laid one hand against her chest and began thrusting harder than before, the pace quicker. Her entire body rocked with the greater force. Her head danced against the furs propping it up, her shoulders jerked inward. Her rounded stomach rippled, her breasts rolled in against his hand. Glassy gemstone eyes stared off into the middle distance. Her face was slack. Splitter again wrapped his fingers around her throat, ensuring he could feel the pulse of his efforts in her neck. Indeed blood was being forced through her veins, he felt his efforts swelling in her carotid artery, even in the femoral pulse hidden between her pillowy thighs. But that was little comfort. She was so unnaturally still. So pale he could see the veins in her half closed eyelids. Her nipples had lost the rosy tint of before, nearly vanishing into the deathly pallor of the rest of her skin.
"Come on," Splitter growled under his breath, "Breathe. Breathe, little one." Aiding in this, he lowered his mouth to hers and tried to make a seal around her lips. Here, the difference between them made his efforts even more difficult. He engulfed her, easily twice her size, and his lips were clumsy and too wide for her mouth. He resituated so he covered both her mouth and nose and blew air down her throat. Her chest rose into his hand. Once. Twice. Phhhhh-phwah. Phhhhh-phwah. Her cheeks rounded, excess air expelling in a puff after each breath. "Fight," he whispered against her lips, "I won't be responsible for your death." His eyes cut to her stomach. It wouldn't just be her death. The weight of the two lives he held suddenly pressed down on him, heavy and insistent. The Horde was no stranger to taking lives. It was part of their credence, their religion. Yorgoth demanded blood. He was a god sat atop a throne of skulls, and his tributes were always paid for with the lives of the weak. But this woman was not his enemy. Nor was her unborn child. They had never wronged him. Like this, vulnerable, wounded, he could feel nothing for her but a deep fear of loss. He didn't want her to die.
"Cira," he hissed, pounding against her chest, "I will not give up on you. Do not give up on me." More than likely she wouldn't understand his native tongue were she conscious, but his language was made for blood oaths. It held more weight than the flowery prose of the elves. His was a promise.
Splitter knelt there beside her for what felt like hours, though it had to have been only a few minutes. Every now and then her lips would spasm open in a terrible sounding snore, like she was trying to breathe, but when he stopped and listened for a heartbeat, he could still hear none. Some death trick that made it sound like she might take a breath for herself. He fed her his own breaths every few cycles, awkwardly sealing his lips around the lower half of her face, even as air escaped where his tusks couldn't properly hug against her skin. He was actually starting to sweat. Having to restrain himself was taking a toll greater than if he could hammer against her ribcage with his full strength.
Suddenly the tent flap draw back and voices raised from outside. He spared a glance over his shoulder to see the male elf from before. Beaten, bruised, one eye swelled shut and with blood dripping down his nostrils, but there was a wild gleam in his one good eye. Seeing Splitter bent over his mate he threw himself at the orc, landing blows against his head and shoulders that did little but annoy the orc.
"What are you doing?!" the elf bellowed, "Get off of her, what have you done to her? Cira-" Splitter grabbed the male by the front of his shirt and easily made him crumple to his knees beside his dying mate. All the fight seemed to drain from him when he saw her staring blankly at the roof of the tent. "Cira," he rasped in a broken whisper, taking her face in his hands. He shuddered all over and nearly sobbed, "Gods, she's so cold." He again rounded on Splitter. "What did you do?!"
He rolled his eyes. "Nothing. Her heart stopped." The male gave a stricken moan as he buried his face against the hollow of her throat. How he'd managed to get past the guards, even wounded, behe had no idea. Splitter amended, "I'm trying to start it again." The dark elf looked from the corner of his eye at the hand laid against his mate's chest, uncomprehending. He cradled her head in his arms and straightened. "Can you do that? Make ... make her heart beat again?" Splitter nodded. "I've done it before. On drowned slaves. One heart is the same as another, illness or no." The elf placed a hand on Cira's cheek, her head settled in his lap. "I was always afraid of this," he murmured quietly, "Of losing her like this. She was always so fragile... I didn't even want her to get pregnant, I was worried..." He again looked at Splitter rhythmically thumping her chest. Then to the round hill of her belly. Then his eye slid back up to the orc. "Tell me what to do," he whispered. "Tell me how I can help." Two guards rushed into the tent, stumbling over each other to apologize for their incompetence and beg their lord's pardon, but Splitter silenced them with a raised hand. "Leave us." "But, Splittah, the slave-" "I said go." They knew better than to wait for the third order. The pair eyed the scene in confusion, the battered elf, the naked mate, their chief in the middle of it all. Still, they silently backed out of the tent.
Free of the distraction, Splitter grunted, his eyes trained on his task as his hand buried again and again into Cira's ribs. "I'm acting as her heart. You may act as her lungs. Pinch her nose with one hand and lift her head back, then breathe into her mouth. One full breath. Do this whenever I tell you, understand?" He nodded and shifted to lay on his stomach beside her, propped on his elbows. He murmured softly against her cheek as the orc pumped her chest, and took up his task when Splitter grunted, "Breathe!" Her chest rose into his palm and fell as she sighed out her mate's breath. He bid him again and he did so. Then he went back to squeezing her heart. Her mate laid his hand against her throat, brow furrowed in concentration as he felt the orc's efforts forcing a pulse through her body. "It's actually working," he marveled, "I can feel it." "It'll stop without me. Let me know if it changes, her heart might take up its own rhythm."
Her ribs shifted and her head lolled slightly as she again made that gutteral snoring sound in the back of her throat. Her mate jumped. "W-Wait, stop, she's breathing-" Splitter shook his head. "No, watch." He lifted his hand away from her chest and demonstrated how the artificial pulse stopped once more. Still her body shifted in the crude mimicry of a breath. Her mate shivered and Splitter continued shoving his hand against her breastbone. They worked in tandem, acting as her lungs and pulse while hers were absent. Every now and then Splitter touched her belly with his free hand to ensure he still felt the pup shift inside. His compressions were doing something, at least. Each one made her stomach shudder, carrying life to the child. Her mate looked to him again. "Can you save them?" The orc grunted a noncommittal reply. He wasn't sure. It had been some time since he brought her to his tent. The sun had been about to set when he had, but it was getting dark now. Had they really been here for an hour? Her pale, cool skin seemed to suggest just that. Could her heart even beat on its own anymore? It hadn't tried in all this time. Not even a flutter.
Once more she gasped in the back of her throat, as if hearing his thoughts. He recalled his oath. Didn't give up on me and I won't give up on you. He resituated his heel and pushed a bit harder between her swollen breasts, her body jerking under the renewed, more forceful compressions. "Breathe," he told her mate and he did. He had started crying, his tears rolling from his ruined cheeks onto her deathly still face. A string of spit connected their lips for a moment, then snapped. Splitter felt something shift in her ribcage and give. He'd broken something inside her. He only hoped he'd fix her by the end of this.
They went on like this for yet longer, both men exhausted and sweating. They got something resembling a heartbeat once or twice, and they would lean back in relief, only to lose it again a few moments later. Then at last, mercifully, her mate jolted. "Wait, I feel something!" He pressed his fingers harder under her jaw. "It ... It's strong but it doesn't feel right. It's not beating right." Splitter lowered his head to lay against her chest, grateful for a break for his tiring muscles. There indeed was something happening inside her chest. He heard a hummingbird patter in her ribs, too fast to sustain life. She gasped again, like she was trying to urge him to keep going. "She's fighting," Splitter said more to himself than anyone. "Good, little one, keep fighting."
The orc shifted her limp body between his hands. Her mate watched in confusion as he laid his hands against her chest and back, holding her like a broken toy. "What are you doing?" Splitter didn't answer. Just stared down at her pallid face. She seemed to be staring up at him. A silent plea. He gathered the storm between his palms, one against her breasts, one pressed between her shoulder blades, cupping her heart between. "Stand back," he rumbled. Then he loosed the charge.
Cira's body seized in the current. Her chest bucked against his hands, her head snapping and rolling to the side. The electricity made nearly every muscle tense, even making her legs jerk, her heels hitting the floor of the tent hard. Her head hung loose on its joint, and Splitter shifted so he cradled it in the crook of his arm. Her mate looked like he might vomit, but after all the time they'd just spent trying to save her, he didn't question further. Splitter once more listened to the rapid snapping of the muscle in her chest, finding it was still twitching out of rhythm. The storm gathered at the tips of his fingers. "You're almost there, Cira," he murmured, lowering his cheek against hers. "Now come back." Cira's body lurched and thrashed even more severely the second time. Her cheek hit his chest, her arms contracting against her torso in a sharp jerk. One draped across her gravid belly, and suddenly she was shifting as she took in a breath. The tent fell into utter stillness. Neither could believe their eyes. She was indeed breathing, not the intermittent snoring of before but actually breathing, groaning softly on every exhalation. Her mate lunged forward and drew her into his arms, cradling her against his body.
"Cira," he sobbed in relief, "My love! Gods, I thought I'd lost you." He kissed her face all over, peppering her cheeks and brow and the bridge of her nose. He rubbed her round stomach as if he might warm her and the child back up from their near death. Splitter sat back on his heels, observing the scene with a dull exhaustion. His duty fulfilled, he might have returned both of them to the slave pens so they may recover. That felt improper as he watched them. The bruised and battered elf and his freshly resurrected mate. The imprint his hand had made in the center of her chest felt like a brand, like he had laid claim to them both somehow by his actions, and Yorgoth would punish him for abandoning the pair now that they belonged to him. The male looked up at him in the silence.
"Thank you," he said quietly, "I'm... I am Zulin. I owe you a great debt. You've saved my mate and my son both." "Slaves cannot repay debts," he replied. Yet still, Splitter stood and left the elves to their reunion and went outside to tell the guards the slaves Zulin and Cira were to remain in his household, under his protection. He wasn't in the habit of keeping slaves for himself, but he found he did not like the idea of them being apart. After everything he and Zulin had done, he didn't want to imagine Cira having another incident in the pens, unaided.
So the merciless orc warlord found himself harboring a mother with a weak heart and her mate.
janainaart
yousharknotpass
theartofmadeline
dededos
