He doesn't maintenance where they come from or who they were. They drop off a male body, and the customer's order with half of the agreed sum in silver bars. Then the MD gets to work, no name, no questions.

The doctor was excited ; it had been a piece since he had a surgical procedure this challenging. Despite the belittled elbow room the Dr. had to act with, the equipment in the room was easily worth more than the integral flat complex the make-do surgical operation elbow room was held in.

The medico looked for non-existing seams on the last piece of the hokey peel on her os frontale. This was one of the more unique type of skins used, a eccentric of organic fertiliser pulp colored silicon, giving the look and feeling of a dame. This type of cutis supported twice the sum of brass finish of convention human skin. Under the skin, there were extra sebaceous secreter to release oil onto the skin when pheromones are picked up to provide an oiled rubber-base paint look for redundant sex prayer. All of the patient role's tegument had been painstakingly replaced section by division, as removing all of it at once would demonstrate to be fatal.

Her closed eyes twinkled like the Night sky, the doctor's hands brushed against her painted palpebra, the dark, cosmic atomic number 47 undisturbed from his cutaneous senses. He had blended the powder of various metals and alloys into the soft pelt of the eyelid until the color was just right. His fingerbreadth stroked her black, plumy eyelash, naturally full and curved as if mascara had just been applied. The doctor gently forced an eye open, revealing a shimmering, emerald juicy iris. He allowed himself to admire his piece of work before inspecting the ebony lines tattooed around the boundary of her eye. His fingers followed the shape of the feminine case to her toothsome red lips. The doctor's blueness latex glove met with her rubber eraser lips, always plump, always glossy, its vermilion hue unyielding. Everything was permanent, good.

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The Doctor moved to the breasts to study their onward motion. He massaged the DD sized breast, working his way from the firm flexible breast to the pinko nipple he spent twenty-four hours crafting. He touched the growing teat gently, admiring just how much was going on underneath the hypersensitive chunk of artificial form. The doctor's margin call of duty was sensitive breasts, but he liked to campaign himself further. He especially liked the orders where there were no upper bound for him ; he could truly express his creativity applying a mix of science and art. This was one of those orders. He pinched the grippy nipples as the remainder of his fingers felt the modified milk secreter inside her breasts. The doctor was pleased that the tit was self-coloured and addictive to recreate with, but he still was still not satisfied. The replacement of all the Milk River glands with Skene's allowed her to cum through her breasts. The MD felt a slim throbbing in between his fingers, and knew that he had succeeded. The nipple ejected cum, soiling the doctor's blue operative gloves. The doctor had a triumphant smile knowing that the weeks of mussy nerve rewiring had paid off.

Though she had lost the ability to give suck, her breasts had the potentiality to make more cum than a normal vagina on an average charwoman. Her bosom were wired to produce cum indefinitely in the supplant Milk glands, signaling imitating the one sent after childbirth. The cum would likely swell her breasts to an E cup before spilling from her nipples. From the doctor's calculations, she would have to attain her white meat cum every day or so to forbid an overflow. The doctor cleaned the spillage around her titty, and to his pleasant surprise had to strip the arcsecond untouched nipple as well. The doctor scribbled with fervour in his notes before continuing his examination.

The doctor was renowned in the art of crafting vaginas that would cause the most dysfunctional man to cum prematurely. But what the doc was about to make even imprint himself, despite all of the breathtaking patch he had created before. Rumour has it that one of his pieces has been known to get blackouts and possible cardiac arrest should the drug user have a weak warmness. The woman disappeared shortly afterwards, though there had been an increasing amount of money of herculean digit succumbing to heart attack. The skin for the vagina was the sum of his experiments with hypersensitive skin, optimized through years of extinction on hundreds of specimens. The doctor had found the optimal zone in between pain and pleasure.

Everything in her new sex had been expertly crafted by the doctor, save the ovaries ; she would only go pregnant only if her master desired it. She would give birth menses, and could even grow a child inside her womb should a fertilized egg be inserted within her. Her vagina looks perfectly convention on the out of doors, but the inside was the doctor's Sistine chapel. He was very gifted in his art, but after so many years of creation, he was left with little room to improve. This parliamentary procedure had him flustered as he could easily follow out one of the many designs which has made him illustrious, but they were old and stale to him. He was going to put through a lot of the perfected classical designing, but he needed something new to make this one unique. It was rare that he was allowed to freely produce, and he did not like to languish this opportunity by photocopying his former pieces.

The Doctor of the Church wondered if he was if he was losing his creative spark, or if he was just getting old - or maybe both. He was desperate, but he couldn't do anything but feel helpless flipping through former Night TV show on his couch. That was until the shark week exceptional gave him the inspiration he needed. He would lay down multiple g-spots in the physical body of a shark's gills out of cartilage, ten totality, five on each English of the vaginal rampart. The doctor beamed while he attacked his notepad. They were to extend outwards when blood fills the vagina, pointing downwards towards the opening. They were to land extremum delight to the user, and possibly cause a meltdown in mind of the vagina's owner.

The doctor brought himself back to the task at hand, his fingers spread her moist labia. The doctor breached her qualify hymen, made to grow back within dozen hours. He swirled his fingers around the surface area just before the raiment of g-spots, the brain bodily process monitor rapidly scaled out to accommodate the Brobdingnagian stiletto heel it had to display. The doc became excited as he continued to his masterpiece, he could palpate the gill ( named for G-spot gills ) erect. The doctor continued to push, until the gill inversed, point into her womb, causing her unconscious soundbox to instantly amount to an sexual climax. He continued his finger through the remaining four sets of gill, the new genius activity levels made the previous look like a flat tire telephone line. If the doctor didn't apply the anaesthetic himself, he would not possess believed that this girl was under from the way she was convulsing from the acute orgasm. The doctor removed his finger swiftly, causing all of the branchia to retrovert to their original placement, the sudden removal of his figure stimulated all the Gills, causing another blast of fluids. Her eubstance stayed in a stress arch for various seconds twitching, before slowly lowering back onto the brand mesa.

The concentration and the way the gills held onto his finger's breadth turned the doctor on, he could only suppose how a penis would just melt down inside his chef-d'oeuvre. The Doctor of the Church was tempted to give it a psychometric test run, to fulfill his raging manhood, but this was the hardest voice of his job. Even though he knew the hymen would produce back, and there was no grounds, he had to remain a professional person. He had always thought of making one for himself, but he realized that he would continuously discard them when he came up with new proficiency for his art. The doctor sighed at his predicament, and went on to quiz her clitoris. The sixteen thousand nerve endings in her clitoris were expertly coiled and weaved amplifying sensations to inconceivable stage. The doctor pressed on her button like an elevator button, turning her aftershocks into another full blown orgasm. The MD was pleased.

Regretfully, the doctor's interrogatory was coming to an end. He began the cookery for her recovery. The doctor inserted a shiny black latex catheter, into the newly formed urine duct. He knew that she will be kept under until she was completely healed. The latex tube hung out of her vagina like a slim tail. The physician picked up the underground inflated the balloon inside her vesica with a extra tool, securing the catheter until he decides to release it. The Dr. pulled the red latex vent plug from the end of the tube, and attached the catheter to a tube leading to a urine bag.

The Doctor of the Church unpacked the fresh pink lingerie ; the seductive sound of sliding the thin scanty up her piano peg aroused the doctor beyond the boundary of a formula man. The catheter came out from the incline of the pink panty. Next, he took the bra, wrapping it around her unconscious consistence, tucking threatening breasts into its cup was always a joy for the Doctor. He took her script, with a silver manicure, placing them over her perforated navel- a insidious tracking device, anchored to her womb ; removal would prove quite awful. Finally, he slipped her dainty groundwork into a pair of platform heels. Perfect.

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The doctor turned off the lights, but did not leave the way. He admired the lineation of her facial expression that he crafted for her. The curve, long slender ramification, her ample bust, his prefect natural endowment to her. The medico had not felt a association like this to his creations for a long time now. He went up to her and kissed her on the cheek in the dark. He made sure the full eubstance mirror positioned correctly succeeding to the bed, he wanted his patient role to look up to his study when she awoke.

"rest tight, my daughter. ”