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Subject: {ASSM} To Catch Rhianna  Part 18  (BDSM)
Date: Wed,  9 Aug 2000 10:15:11 -0400
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To Catch Rhianna   Part 18



It was late at night, but the harsh glow of florescent lighting made its way
to every corner of the room.  The lighting was there for a purpose; this was
not a room for sleeping in.

Dr. Jolene Wessman wanted the people in this room to always be awake and
alert, it was a matter of pride to her.

Dr. Wessman ran a very unusual little clinic.  She was being paid a great
deal of money to perform medical procedures that in some cases would be
terribly frowned upon by the medical community, not to mention illegal.

She really didn't care.  The work was interesting, the pay was good, and the
perks were very good indeed!  What other hospital or clinic would pay their
staff with sexual favors from the patients?  Even the Kennel in New York,
where she had first gotten into the trade, didn't provide perks like that.
It was one reason she had quit the place.  Never mind how that bitch Diane
Carey kept saying that she had been fired.  Jolene had quit on her on terms.

Besides, Carey wouldn't have let her do this kind of work anyway; lately,
all Kennel surgery had become was another body shop!

Here, in Jolene's clinic, REAL work was being done.

Yes, she did do the occasional tummy tuck or boob job, but it was rare that
such mundane tasks were allotted to her without certain twists.

Jolene remembered a boob job she had been asked to do a few weeks before.
When she heard what the client wanted for his slave, she almost opened her
mouth in amazement, but her professional face stayed on and she discussed
the procedure as if she did them every day.  She wondered now how the female
slave she had operated on got along with her two breasts surgically blended
into one big one.  Removing one of the nipples and centering the other one
had been a bitch, but Jolene had done it!

The owner of the unfortunate slave girl was ecstatic!

This evening nothing unusual had been done though, unusual for her that is.
She had performed minor surgery on two females, surgery she had performed
countless times before on almost all the stock that passed through Martin
Yochim's yard, and it had all gone off without a hitch.  Now she was in the
monitoring room of her little clinic, checking the charts of her two current
patients as they slept off the general anesthetic.  It hadn't been necessary
to put them under, but Yochim insisted upon it.  He liked to have them wake
up not knowing what had happened to them.

Jolene didn't argue; he paid her fees.

Jolene sat at a desk with another clinic technician in front of a small bank
of monitors.  Each screen showed one of the rooms of her clinic.  There was
one operating room and five padded recovery rooms, as she liked to call
them, plus numerous prep, storage, waiting and visiting rooms.

One screen showed the occupant of one of the rooms, a brunette.  She was
lying on the floor, something she had no choice about, as there was no
furniture in the room at all.

Her legs and head were bare, but the rest of her was covered.

She wore a straightjacket that bound her arms tightly to her; it would not
be removed for as long as she was in the clinic.  Below that, she wore
plastic underwear over an adult diaper.  The diaper concealed bandages on
each buttock, where Jolene had operated.  The girl also had bandages around
her ankles, for Jolene had worked there as well.

The diaper also concealed the fact that all her pubic hair had been
permanently removed, a special request added on by the girl's sponsor.
Never again would she have hair between her legs.

There was one thing the girl wasn't wearing, and that was the shock collar
she had worn coming in.  It wasn't needed here in the clinic, and if all
went well, the slave wouldn't need it outside the clinic anymore either.

Jolene looked over the chart of Amy Nelson and saw that everything was okay.
She put it down and picked up the other one.

In another room, identical to the first, lay Rhianna Summer.  She too wore
exactly the same thing as Amy, for the two girls had undergone the exact
same procedures, including the hair removal.

Rhianna was stirring, not quite awake, yet not really asleep.  This didn't
disturb Jolene; people came out of surgery reacting in different ways.  She
handed the chart to the tech that was there to watch over the women.

"How are they, Dr. Wessman?" said a voice behind her.

Jolene turned to see that Martin Yochim had come into the room.  The clinic
was in an outbuilding of his yard, so he often dropped by when it was
occupied.

"They're fine, Sir," Jolene said with a smile.  "They both came through with
no complications."

"No adverse reactions to the Botulinum toxin?" Yochim asked her, reaching
for one of the charts.

"None at all.  I used a different supplier this time.  We won't have a
repeat of what happened last month."

"Good," Yochim said, and you could see in his eyes that he wouldn't have
excused another failure.

An unfortunate incident with mislabeled dosage strengths from their prior
medical supply house had led to the death of a male slave while under
Jolene's care.

The toxin in question was a paralyzing agent, and in proper dosage and
application, it could stop the action of any muscle in the body.

Jolene had perfected the technique of injecting tiny amounts of the potent
toxin into the muscles of the voice box, rendering them unable to bring the
vocal cords into play, therefore taking away a person's voice.  And the
effects were far from temporary.  Repeated dosages at required intervals
would keep the subject silent for months between visits.

It was on such a repeat visit that tragedy struck.  The shipment she had
used had been graded incorrectly, and she had ended up injecting a dosage
many times stronger than she had intended.  The toxin traveled straight to
the heart and caused it to stop.  From that point on, there was nothing she
could do, and the slave died on the table.

Yochim was pissed.  Replacing the slave had put him seriously out of pocket.

Still, now things were back to normal.

He put the chart down and watched the screen as Rhianna fought her way
toward consciousness.  "What about the rest?"

"Standard stuff.  I inserted the beads into both women, just the way you
like it.  Dressings come off in three days as usual, and then you get them
back."  Jolene heard someone else enter the room, and saw that it was Jacob
Yochim, Martin's father.

Old Yochim used to run the place until his son took over.  White slavery had
been a family business for at least four generations, although according to
Jacob, it wasn't what it used to be.  "Too many strange fetishes about if
you ask me!" he'd say to anyone that would listen to him.  "I remember when
all you had to do was put a girl in a well equipped dungeon and whip her
till she broke.  Now we have to train them for all sorts of things!"

Jacob Yochim had not been a fan of the new directions his son was taking the
family business.  But to his credit, he didn't interfere.  A man of his
word, when he handed the company reins over to his son, he swore to retire,
and retire he did.  It didn't stop him from visiting, though.

Jolene regarded the old man warmly.  She had always had a soft spot for him.

Jacob knew about it, of course, and never lost an opportunity to flirt with
the attractive doctor.

"Hello, Dr. Jo," he said with a smile in her direction, "I heard you were
playing with your beads again tonight!"

"Hello, Jacob, you're looking well!"

Jacob waved off the comment about his health with one hand.  "I don't want
to know about it!" he said.  He hated talking about his health, or his age.
He went over to his son.  "Are these the two new house slaves?" he asked.

"Yes, Dad," Yochim replied.

"That one looks restless."

"She's coming out of her anesthetic."

Jacob grunted.  "All this just to make sure a woman can't talk or sit down.
Back in my day, we just gagged them and whipped their asses until they
couldn't sit down if they wanted to!"

Martin Yochim, taller than his father by a good six inches, looked over at
Jolene and winked.  It wasn't anything Jacob hadn't said before.

"It's better this way, Dad," Martin said.  "Less wear and tear on the slave,
and permanent to boot.  And as effective as hell."

Jacob grunted again.

Two years before, Martin Yochim had approached Dr. Jolene Wessman with an
idea, an idea that took her many months of trial and error to perfect for
him.  It only happened that fast because Yochim had a ready supply of slaves
for her to experiment on, and she took advantage of it.

Now it was a commonplace operation.

A specially shaped surgical steel bead, about the size of a marble, was
inserted into each buttock from the side, and carefully placed just under
the Ishium, one of the lower bones of the pelvis.  This resulted, once the
subject healed, in great pain whenever the subject sat down, as the bead
ground against the bone.

A smaller version of the bead was also inserted under the Calcaneus, or heel
bone of each foot.  Again, once healed, any pressure on the heel would
result in pain.

The upshot of all this was that with these surgeries you created a person
who would find it extremely uncomfortable to sit like a normal person,
finding it easier to kneel on the floor instead.  And this person would much
rather walk and stand on their toes rather than come down flat footed,
giving their legs that wonderful high heel definition without the
inconvenience of high heels.

Perfect surgeries for slaves!

Martin insisted on it for all of his, and most of the owners and buyers he
dealt with had followed suit.

And now the two women in recovery had joined the ranks of the initiated.

Martin Yochim watched the monitors closely, especially the one that showed
Rhianna Summer.  Her sponsor was paying him a lot of money to hold on to
both these women for a while, and to make sure that neither of them missed
out on any of the training available to them here.  Yochim wasn't about to
change those orders.

"You said they'll be ready to go to the house in three days?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir," Jolene replied.

"Good."



---***---



Rhianna couldn't quite get her mind to work.  It kept jumping around like a
badly skipping CD.  Images of times past intermixed with what her half-aware
senses were telling her now.

She felt the straightjacket around her, a familiar feeling that did not
provide comfort to her.  Its tightness generated images in her mind of
bright lights and people yelling and laughing.  Of groping hands and sharp
pain.  Of faces filled with lust and derision.

Her half-open eyes took in the sight of the padded room she was in, and sent
to her brain images of prior cells like this and the indignities she
suffered.

Her hips hurt, her ankles hurt, and the pain reminded her of other tortures,
other pain filled moments.

She opened her mouth and silently screamed.


---***---



In the bar of the Hotel Granger in Manhattan, two men sat silently in a
booth at the back.

Both of them were nursing beers, and the table between them bore witness to
their having been there awhile, for it was covered in empties.

Yet neither of the men were what you could call drunk, they were both far to
emotionally keyed up for alcohol to have had any real effect on them.  The
news they had been presented with that day was worse then they had
anticipated, and the options given to them didn't sit well with either man.

So they sat and drank, neither saying a word to the other.  Companions in
their misery, yet competitors as well.  Neither man could forget that the
other man had the same goal; that the other was after the same prize.  It
too was a sore spot on an already tattered emotional hide.

Both men were confident men, both normally able to find their place in any
situation.  One of them had the rare gift of approachability; he was able to
connect with people and so find his center with anyone.  The other was more
analytical, and found his center through controlling what went on around
him.  Yet this situation had them both thrown for a loop.  It could not be
met with an agreeable persona, nor was it under their control.

It wore at their nerves.

"Why do you want to see her?" the younger of the two men asked the other,
his voice quiet, barely loud enough to overcome the noisy bar atmosphere.

The other man hesitated.  He did not want to talk about it.

"It isn't important," he said eventually.

"I think it is.  You want to see her again, don't you."  It was a statement,
not a question.

"I have...there's something I need to tell her."

"So you don't want to see her?"

Matthew looked up at Bart for the first time in a while.  Bart saw in the
man's face all he needed to know.

"You love her too," he said.

Matthew waited a beat, then he nodded slightly.  He picked up his drink to
mask the surge of loss he was beginning to feel.

Bart seemed remarkably calm.  He took a sip of his own drink before
proceeding.  "Does she love you?" he asked.

"Does she love YOU?" Matthew said in return.

A look of doubt flickered across Bart's face.

Matthew chuckled, surprising himself.  "Thought so."

"I...we need to talk about her," Bart said.

"No, not now."

"We NEED to talk, about her and us."

"NO!"  Matthew's yell made several people at the tables near them look over.
Matthew lowered his voice.  "We don't talk about this, not until she's safe.
We don't squabble like two kids over a toy while Rhianna is in danger.  Got
that?"

Bart colored, his anger flaring.  But he knew Matthew was right.  To argue
over her now would be...unseemly.  He nodded.

Matthew leaned back in his seat.  "What do you really think of Joe's master
plan?"

"As undercover operations go, it sucks!  You never send people in without
backup, and you damn well don't do it to them without telling them what's
going on!"  Bart showed his anger now.  He was pissed at Joseph Booth for
doing this to Rhianna, and a part of him was also pissed at her for doing
this kind of work in the first place.

Matthew nodded slowly.  "I agree; so you don't have any confidence at all in
Joe's plan."

"No...well.  Now that she's in there, she might have the information Joe
wanted.  But man, the risks were just too great to even try something like
this.  What he wanted wasn't worth putting Rhianna at risk, it isn't worth
her life."

"So you think waiting would be a bigger mistake?"

"Damn right!"

Matthew smiled and drained his beer.  "Good, I'm glad we're on the same
page.  Let's table our feelings about Rhianna for the moment, and
concentrate on getting her back first!"

"We aren't going wait?" Bart asked him as Matthew got out of the booth.

"Hell no!  I have an idea I want to try out, and there's no point in waiting
any longer!  You game?"

Bart smiled.  "Damn right!"




End of Part 18



Author note:  Botulinum Toxin is real, and so is the procedure of using it
to paralyze the muscles of the thorax.

BUT!!!  It is NEVER used to the extreme I put it to in the chapter above,
because of a side effect I chose to ignore for the sake of a good story
line.  IT WILL KILL YOU!

The muscles that control your vocal cords also close off your airway when
you swallow, preventing food and drink from entering your lungs.  Paralyze
those muscles and you will choke every time you swallow!

So, kiddies, don't try this at home!



Peter
Catch up on all my stories at http://www.dajungle.com/stories/leviticus
If you're having problems contacting me, try leviticusthebard@hotmail.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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