Authors: S.L. Carpenter
Chapter Two
Mary worked at the morgue adjacent to the county hospital. She was usually assigned the majority of the cases because her team was so precise and efficient. She had assembled them over time and Rob, the system manager, trusted her to run things—and still took all the credit.
Typical management asshole.
Mary was still a little sore from the celery stick and feather orgasm. But overall she was in a good mood. That was good because the next few days were a blur. She
was so busy at work with meetings and going over budgets. She hated all the bullshit things she had to do
, and just wanted to work and dig into her job.
Finally it was her last shift of the week. She walked into the lab and slipped, almost face-planting on a slick pool of blood on the floor. Club dance music echoed through the room and she heard a loud laughing sound that was like the mating call for squirrels and dolphins.
Inga was jumping rope.
The only problem was—she didn’t have rope. She was using the small intestines of the woman lying open on the table, a case from the night before. It was pretty gross for anyone except Inga. Mary knew she must be bored.
“Hey Inga,” Mary tossed her purse on the counter by the lockers.
Inga stopped jumping. “Don’t worry, all the tests were done. I was just waiting for you to get here. Figured you were going to be a little late. Saw your post on Facebook about dragging a little and in need of the three “C’s”.”
“You know what the three “C’s” are?”
“I may be gay but there was a time when I used to like
coffee
,
croissants
and a thick
cock
in the morning.” Inga started jumping rope again.
“Um, are you done with the autopsy on this one?”
“I was done a while ago. Just needed some exercise. She died of natural causes. Paperwork’s done and filed.”
Inga Skøtwyvøssendotter was Mary’s best female friend. She was actually her
only
female friend.
Inga was a brilliant surgeon but her height issue had always worked against her.
She was so short that she had difficulty reaching all the proper surgical tools to do her job without some kind of stepladder. It was a deal breaker in operating rooms. She had tried working in various hospitals only to finally realize she was better at forensic science, and her meticulous nature enjoyed the investigative part of the job.
It also made it easier for her to work at her own pace, because most surgeons she had known tended to be egomaniacs and would blackball her skills. Especially after she told them their diagnosis was wrong and hers was right. Then there was the “elbowing a few of them in the balls while they were scrubbing up” thing, which had caused some other issues—mainly an upswing in testicular surgery—and Inga had at last decided to go into forensics.
She was a black haired Scandinavian with a slight accent, and stood all of four feet tall. She was a confirmed lesbian and had permanent ankle cuffs along with a large tattoo on her lower back that read “Enter at your own risk”.
She had a serious loving crush on Mary and followed her to the hospital after they graduated from medical school. Mary needed an assistant and knew Inga would be perfect because of her special gift for internal medicine and forensic science.
They had shared a few sexual escapades in college because most of the guys weren’t always what Mary needed. Sure, it was a little selfish to use Inga’s expertise in going down on women. But she was so fucking good at it that Mary let her go down on her those few times when she was in desperate need of a good, deep, toe curling orgasm.
So after a recommendation to the Medical Board (and three blow-jobs), Inga had been hired even though she’d arrived for her interview on a moped, dressed in a T-shirt that had “
Pussy, the other white meat
” on it, above a pair of mini shorts.
Mary finished her last autopsy on a man who
had a massive heart attack during sex with a prostitute. The handcuff marks were still on his wrists because they couldn’t find the key
immediately, and the look on his face—his lips puckered and his eyes crossed—made her snicker.
“Look Inga? Remind you of anyone?”
Inga stood on her tiptoes and smiled. “Yeah, looks like Professor Ryan when he caught me going down on his wife on that big wooden desk in his office.”
Mary’s days tended to run together into a blur. She had never gone for the standard three kids, a house and a wealthy husband kind of life everyone envisioned for her. Instead she knew she was a borderline workaholic with little time for anything normal in the way of a social life.
As she sat in the cafeteria, sipping on her fresh cup of espresso, she took a long, deep cleansing breath. Inga had left already because she had a date with a pair of nymphomaniac Vietnamese lesbians. The cases were pretty much wrapped up, and Mary figured another hour or two and she could leave. In the quiet, she started to daydream.
Perhaps she should call Peter back. See if he’d be up for a date. She had left him asleep with a bag of frozen peas on his balls. He had a shiny glaze on his lips from eating her out, and was snoring from exhaustion.
Maybe he could be a steady fuck buddy. He had great equipment and sure knew how to use it. She wondered what it would be like to be in a somewhat normal relationship.
She reflected on all the different men and sexual partners she had been with in the past, and went back even further in her memories. She’d never been the most popular girl in school. Most women geniuses tended to be shunned and even though she had the looks and social skills, dealing with the arrogant divas in college fraternities wasn’t her bag. She tended to be drawn to the lab rats and nerdy guys who understood intelligent thoughts instead of football scores. The ones who boasted about the notches on their headboards from all the girls they gave drugs and alcohol to so they could fuck them then brag how good they were.
A few times Mary had fallen into relationships but mostly she wound up in disasters.
Brad had been the guy every girl wanted to be with. He played football, was boyishly handsome, popular and—rumor had it—was any young girls dream in the back seat of a car. When she was in her first year of college he was a junior, and scouts were already looking at him for the pros.
Mary fell under his spell in class when she sat next to him. She let him cheat off her papers because that smile made her heart melt and her panties wet. She wasn’t the type to go for the fantasy guys. In fact she hadn’t gone for any guys up to that point.
Being a virgin in college was almost as much of a sin as being the college slut. The line between the two wasn’t wide at all. Girls needed to be wholesome and pure but know about sex and giving blowjobs and maybe some anal on a special occasion.
But most guys steered away from the girls known to be walking nymphomaniacs. The ones who usually spread diseases when they walked past a guy and had scabies and crotch lice leaping off their pussies. It was a known fact that a dude would have to be covered in a full body condom and have a major dose of Lysol over his jewels before entering the hazardous waste dump.
Mary tried her best to walk that thin line.
Brad took her virginity as a bet in college. He posted nude photos of her on the Internet after slipping her a roofie and fucking her when she passed out on a set of bunk beds in his dorm room. The images of her with a Barbie doll in her ass were the worst, but he had the softest hands, perfectly sized to hold her, and he took care of them because he was a tight end.
However, she got some form of revenge a couple of years later. Brad came out as gay and was gang-banged by an opposing team after losing a bet. Now he’s a wide receiver.
She was shaken out of her daydreams and memories by the loud ringing of her cell phone. Answering it, she heard the alert—there had been an accident and the ambulance was bringing in a couple bodies that needed to be set up for identification.
Another quiet night interrupted by death.
She led the guys in and glanced at the three gurneys covered by sheets heavily stained with blood. This was a sloppy one. “Just put them over there.”
The other men rolled the gurneys in a row and left, except for Rob who was the senior ambulance driver and often talked to Mary on nights when he dropped off bodies and the lab was slow.
“This one is going to be tough, Mary,” one of the guys said on his way out.
“Why?”
He shrugged left as Rob pulled the top sheet off to reveal a pile of various body parts. “Really bad accident with some guys in a Jeep. They hit a freeway wall and were thrown from the car into a tree excavation unit that was clearing off some dead trees on the side of the highway.” Rob held back a gag as he showed her what was left of the other victims.
“It’s like putting together a puzzle.” She said not blinking.
As she gazed over the massive pile of body parts she gasped. “Oh my God, that’s Peter.”
“Who?”
She reached in and pulled out a cock from the pile. “This is Peter.”
“Yes it’s a peter. There are a lot of names for the male genitals.”
“No you idiot, it’s
Peter
, a guy I met.”
“How the hell can you tell it’s somebody you know from a dismembered dick?”
“Oh, I never forget a cock once I’ve had it. And this man was special. Look it’s still hard.”
Rob put his hand over his mouth and ran out, puking into the garbage can after seeing Mary rub the blood-soaked cock on her cheek and moan with her eyes closed.
She felt sad because she had liked Peter. Not just because he had an odd shaped cock that rubbed her G-spot. Not just because he could make her come like a geyser in Yellowstone park. Not because he was into all her kinky side quirks like talking like a baby so she could breast-feed him.
He was just a real nice guy. But as usual, something had come between her and a nice guy. This time it was the fact that he’d been chopped up into little pieces. She couldn’t win.
But she had a job to do, and from then on she did her best to piece the parts with the corresponding torsos. What most people would feel squeamish about never bothered her. She believed that everyone is made of the same stuff, just in different amounts and sizes.
She clicked on the recorder. “After completing analysis the CoD—sorry, cause of death...” She clicked off the machine for a moment. “Fuck, there were a lot of pieces. Hope I got them right because every part has a story. Look at that guy’s cock there. He only had one testicle. There’s gotta be a story there. And this one here has a penis the size of a child. He probably couldn’t get laid unless he paid for it…paid a
lot
.”
She sighed and continued her formal report, “Cardiac arrest due to multiple organ failure, and caused by severe trauma.” She looked around. “The bodies are assembled and basically ready for identification.”
Mary tilted her head and thought a second in silence. Clicking off the recorder she felt a strange expression curl her lips.
It would be kind of fun to take the best part of different men and make the perfect mate
.
In life there are things that can trigger brilliance or jump-start extreme idiocy.
For Dr. Mary Shelley, this was one of those moments.
Chapter Three
Her time was now devoted to the research she needed to better understand, before building the perfect beast. Something like this would make her infamous. She would be known everywhere for such a discovery.
If it failed and people found out, she would be ruined and considered a freak of scientific horror. That was something she couldn’t comprehend or let happen. So she knew she had to get it right.
Mary’s life had always included medical discoveries that rivaled those around her. While applauding her brilliance, her peers had envied and despised her on many occasions.
Personal relationships were never her strong suit and she admitted that she had terrible luck with men. She was so tired of going from man to man and being let down or disappointed in some silly way, and yet she still dreamed of finding a wonderfully caring, compassionate, wealthy, brilliant man with the perfect cock.
She didn’t think that was asking for much? Just a nice guy with a cock the size of a Pringles can.
She could do some nerve and vein surgery to make him last forever and stay hard. This way he’d always be there and ready whenever and for however long she desired him. She knew there were more than a few procedures out there that would accomplish this…in fact she’d designed one or two herself.
Her superior intelligence helped her create various experimental ways to improve the male body. She had dabbled with male-enhancement-engineering and devised an automated erector. But no matter how far or how much she tested, she was left unfulfilled and needing to go further. Her flirting and letting the night shift guy at the bag-and-tag unit have three pairs of her pink lace undies, her favorite Coach purse and a full-on-rim-job after screwing him with a twelve inch strap-on dildo assured an unending supply of body parts for testing.
Mary almost had one device perfected. It worked like a garage door opener but with thin fibers inserted in the walls of the penis. They would inflate, swell, then be adjusted. She had wired a few accessories into the head of the cock, and planned a small remote control for the miniature speaker and vibration unit tucked neatly inside. For an added bonus, it was preset to speak in five languages and she was thinking of adding an outlet for a MP3 player.
I bet you can’t buy that at Target!
She had tested her first prototype device on a live subject.
It didn’t work too well, because one of the guys accidentally crossed two circuits so when it was supposed to make his penis erect—it did the opposite, inverting and retracting into his body.
Author’s Note: Surprisingly, this event was viewed it as only a partial failure, however, since the device was immediately adopted by a different medical field, and there is now a new way to effectively complete trans-gender surgery.