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Message-ID: <45667asstr$1070266203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 30 Nov 2003 22:03:56 -0600
From: "JD Socab" <d.bacos@comcast.net>
Subject: {ASSM} The Beast On Top, by JD Socab (MF, femdom, bdsm, oral, snuff)
Date: Mon,  1 Dec 2003 03:10:03 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Blankplease feel free to email me your opinion of this story, maybe ways to
improve it.  negative + positive comments welcomed equally. thanx, JD Socab

nocturnal_dance@yahoo.com


The Beast On Top, by JD Socab

In the bar, elbows flat on the wood, the dentist held himself up with
another drink.  He sipped the shot of Sambuca, and wondered about the three
girls sitting next to him.  Not the arrogant one closest to him, but the
plump one in the middle.  He watched her face in the reflection of the beer
tap, almost hoping that she would look into the brass plate and see his
desperation.  He would not turn away; exhaustion had made him brave.    His
friend said something.  The voice was droning far away.  Yes, said the
dentist, let's go, guessing correctly the gist of the mumbling.

He got home and hustled his empty carcass-shell up the back stairs,
noticing the light under the door in apartment #2 where a large Vietnamese
family lived.  He fought with them about parking after they moved in.  One
of the girls was thin and moved with insect angularity, gesticulating with
pointed black forearms.  He liked her aura and imagined her feeding on him,
ripping away his suit and scooping up parts of muscle from off the bone.
He would choke her little head and thin throat with all his flesh.

He reached the top floor and the cold hit his body but fatigue numbed him
well enough.  Photos, slides and transparencies lay about the fold-out
table in the kitchen.  The photos were dark and depicted stitched-up gums
at various stages of the operation.   From out of the spidery mucosa
erupted metallic prongs, the implants themselves.  The dentures would snap
over these implants after healing was complete.  He did not have much time
to finish the presentation and the thought of his impending doom rushed in
and warmed his groin.  He would have to do something, plead general malaise
in order to escape his obligation.  Would they believe him?  No, he should
just finish the presentation and get it over with tomorrow.  He did not
care so much to become a partner in the dental practice at that moment but
knew that tomorrow morning he would indeed care very much.  He stared at a
photo and lost himself in the dark tunnel of throat.  The darkness crept
toward him crawling over the tongue and hung behind the pillared implants
like an exotic caged animal.  Then sleep.

The phone rang shrilly, waking him up.  He did not answer.  It was Marge.
Her voice came out of the answering machine, asking about the presentation.
If he needed any help.  Marge was the obese dental assistant who helped the
dentist beyond the call of duty.  She was the one who inserted the plastic
retractors that stretched the lips into a silent howl.  She liked her job,
and ended the message with a demanding entreaty for the dentist to call her
back.  Yes, why not, he would call her over.  She would motivate him to
finish.  She always said that he had no guts.  The gutless wonder, she
called him, when he sniveled and kissed up to the older partners in the
office.  She guided him in and out of rooms, telling him what to do all
day.  He wanted to prove her wrong.  So he called her up.

"Marge, got your message.  How about coming over tomorrow morning and we
can wrap up the presentation before nine?"

"How about I come over now, while I still have the good will in me," she
said, and the dentist quickly acquiesced.

He hauled himself into the bathroom and looked at himself in the splotched
mirror.  He turned his head sideways and carefully noticed the prematurely
graying hairs that people relentlessly brought to his attention.  He
noticed several black strands reaching outward from his nostril.  He
clipped them and began plucking the eyebrow hairs that seemed to grow back
with vigorous spurts, making his brow join over the nose.  The dentist was
a swarthy man, darker and hairier than either of his parents.  He
attributed his physical appearance as well as his restlessness and sexual
obsessions to over-abundance of testosterone.  Often he dreamt of
castration.  It would solve many of his problems, he was sure, but he knew
that enough courage would never muster.  Also, he was not sure that life
amounted to anything more than the basic sexual urges driving the world
`round.  Without his sex, maybe life would end.

The dentist thought about masturbating but decided that there would not be
enough time.  Marge lived only one town over and would arrive within
fifteen minutes.  He did not like to rush the job, so he began doing other
things to get ready for his visitor.  Under a faucet releasing steaming
water, he massaged the grease off of yesterday's dishes.  He was thinking
of Marge in her white uniform, her breasts leaping out as she bent over to
suction away the viscous saliva and blood soup.  She enjoyed the
surgeries -- blood was something she was very comfortable with.  She also
enjoyed her time alone with the patients in recovery.   In order to speed
recovery, she pinched their ears with all her force.  She smiled down  as
the  pain penetrated the fleeting anesthesia and contorted the faces of the
writhing victims, wordless protestations..  The other partners liked her
efficiency.  Our dentist protagonist knew better, and liked her for a
different reason.  The buzzer rang with a muffled and wasp-like sound, and
the dentist released the door, saying suavely into the intercom that she
should come up, apologizing for the lack of an elevator.

Her mammoth steps creaked the stairs and he could hear her asthmatic
breaths as she approached his door.  He opened the door, and she squeezed
herself into the room smelling of strong perfume and cigarettes.  She
looked around for a place to sit.  The dentist offered her a chair.

"You look .... Your hair is down.  That's what it is."

"I'm not at work, am I?" she said with an acerbic edge.  "Let's see the
slides."

The dentist pushed the slides over the table toward her.  He could not take
his eyes away from her flowing blond locks resting on her shoulders and
breasts.  She held a slide up to the light and squinted. Black liner lay
thick around her slits of blue iris.  She left her mouth open as she
concentrated on the tiny shapes, and switched her tongue over her teeth
lasciviously.  She looked at the dentist for a moment, still holding up the
slide.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"I think we have some work to do.  Let's see the photos,"  she said when
she noticed the glossy master copies on the table.  She traced a two-inch
press-on nail over the photograph of gums as if she might feel their
swollen contours.  The inverted image was indecipherable to the dentist,
who could only see black ropes of stitch diving in and out of a red
terrain.

"Yes, we have work to do," she said musingly, her voice trailing off.  "I'
ll take dictation if you want."

The dentist fidgeted and then began to ask, in extreme discomfort, if she
could keep her generous cooperation from the others in the office.  "You
know, people might think something ... After all, I, not you, am supposed
to ... am responsible."

"Don't you worry your little hairy head, doctor," she said laughing
suddenly and with great volume.  "Our little secret is mine to keep.  And
why don't you start."

The dentist was still put off by the loudness of her laugh, noticing for
the first time how odd it was that her face should be so free of jowls and
flab with a body so grotesquely overweight.  This woman was full of
contradictions.  He tried to keep a calm demeanor as he began his
dictation.  She stopped writing after a few sentences and looked up at the
dentist.

"Could you massage my feet, they are very sore.  I can still write and you
can still speak, it would just feel better and I could concentrate."

"Yes, of course," said the dentist with an eagerness which betrayed him.
He blushed after this, and she smiled a deeply subtle and evil smile.  She
went  to remove her semi-heels, grimacing and pulling and grunting while
the dentist looked on helplessly.  The shoe refused to cooperate.  She
began rocking back and forth, her face pinched up, both hands white around
the knuckles from grasping the heel, and with each rocking motion she
released a squeal which gurgled out of her damp throat like some wounded
animal.

The dentist became very aroused and longed to see the stubborn thing
finally freed, so he bent over her hulking mass to lend a helping hand,
trying to adopt a scientific posture.  After noticing the swollen flesh
tightly wedged and bulging out over the shoes, he decided that he should
pry the foot loose with his fingers from underneath.  Although he pushed
and pushed he could not fit his fingers down the side of her arch and to
the soft underbelly.  She was obviously beginning to fatigue, an outward
sign of impending defeat, but the dentist would not have it.  He rushed to
the refrigerator and found the margarine container.  He flipped open the
lid, tossing the plastic coaster across the room in a fervid motion, then
plunged his hand deep into the cold margarine, grabbing gobs of the stuff
and squeezing it out his fists.  He held his coated hand out in front and
scurried to aid in the release of the foot.

"What took you so long," Marge groaned as she felt the cold greasy hand.
She did not like to be kept waiting, this is something everybody in the
office knew.  She would arrive an hour early to prepare the surgical trays,
to make sure all of the instruments were greased and ready to go.  Each
surgeon had his preference, but she knew which ones worked most efficiently
and she dressed them up with little pieces of blue tape and marked them up
best she could in order to pass them off.  And pass them off she would,
slapping the impatient latex palm with their cool steel stems.  She
announced their names as she thrust them into the dentist's hands:  "lower
cow-horn, straight elevator, upper universal..." She did not use numbers like
the other assistants, and she did not allow any room for doubt.

The dentist tried to use his fingers as a crowbar between the taut lips of
her shoes.  The foot arched upward and he flipped his greased digits under
her thick pads and massaged the foot loose.  Marge groaned and passed her
other one over to the sweating dentist.  He dove into the shoe with fervid
greed and a resolve that Marge knew and respected.  She had wedged her
freed foot under the dentist's thigh for leverage.  The dentist pushed his
fingers underneath her remaining foot.  Marge grimaced with pleasure,
worming her foot deeper to his groin, digging in with all of her thickness.
The dentist was reddening with struggle, spittle coating his lips until
finally he fell over, having freed her other foot.

She did not let the poor dentist bask in victory too long, though.  "Lick
the grease off, you dog," she said and thrust her toes into the dentist's
mouth.  His tongue scooped the fatty yellow artificial butter from between
the toes and he gagged as she sent her foot further into his mouth.
"Swallow it," she said and he swallowed the gobs while she deftly massaged
his groin with her glistening heel to the point of near explosion.  "DO
 IT," she said, "come on boy, do it".   She somehow managed to
simultaneously unzip him and yank down her own elastic ribbed pants,
unleashing a sea of splotched flesh that began to glow pink as the blood
filled back in.    He dove his pecker into her body trying to reach the
warm heaven of moistness but she spilled over him tying him down with heavy
folds of skin and adipose.  He struggled underneath her, jacking into her
sagging buttocks with short humped thrusts, finally reaching climax.

He collapsed with exhaustion and shame by her feet, his orgasm hovering
over him - a coagulated gob on her right thigh.  Before he could gather
more than two or three stentorian breaths, she was on top of him,
straddling him, her pantied snatch exhaling into his struggling mouth.  She
held him with two hands by his thick graying hair, and gyrated violently
back and forth for about thirty seconds until she too released her serous
fluids.

She rolled off his semi-conscious frame.  When the dentist finally came to
he resembled a newborn - glistening, panting and ruddy.  Marge was primly
jotting down notes, having dressed herself and tied up her hair in a neat
golden bun.  The dentist did not know whether to apologize or to lash out
with outrage, and decided in the end to be silent.  He pulled himself up
onto the chair.  His shirt button had been torn loose, and a wet splotch
marked his collar.  He had survived a battle with raw experience, had lived
out a moment that he would remember with ambivalence.

"I think that we can work together without the whole world knowing," Marge
said.

"Yes," said the dentist.

"I've done a few slides - the intro.  You'll probably want to change the
text."  She handed the notes and glossy mother copies over to the dentist.
He stared blankly at the paper, trying to concentrate.

"I want to follow this up with another, more interesting series of papers,"
said Marge with a mysterious edge.  She smiled coyly and proceeded to
explain her idea, how the dentist could help, and why the dentist would
love to be the agent of a Dom-femme queen.  Marge had the idea of a great
crime, unparalleled to her own knowing, an investigation into new erotic
pleasures.  "I could have killed you, you know," she said coyly and waited
for the dentist to respond.

"It sounds preposterous and dangerous, but I'll do it,"  said the dentist
through a nervous smile.

And thus the deal was brokered, sealed with an impassioned kiss uniting
these two lost perverts.  They would search the files tomorrow after the
presentation, after a day of work, when the office emptied out, and the two
of them could conspire safely as to who the first victim would be.  The
dentist was eager to learn the hallways of evil, to understand the black
power gravid in his curious soul.  He finished his dictation, which Marge
skillfully translated into a coherent presentation.  She giggled at the
dentist's ironic slips, like "the patient did not go under easily" or "the
gums were fixed with a row of useful implants", silly statements that could
mean two things.  In bed that night, the dentist wondered at Marge's
comment, the words "I could have killed you," echoing between the walls of
deep drowsiness, which were also the walls of his dream as a new strange
hallway luminesced with hell's lantern.

He felt smooth and in control, unburdened by his usual insecurities.
Thoughts, which he would normally suppress like a tyrant,  slipped out of
his grip, off his tongue with ease.  Lack of sleep had destroyed all sense
of ego-threat.  He conversed easily with the assistants, secretaries, and
even with the other senior partners, who he had grown to slightly despise.
People filed in to observe the new shining star of the practice.  The room
fell into place, the lights were dimmed, the projector hummed steadily
behind the light small talk that happens when people are waiting for
something to begin.   The red dot of a laser-pointer quivered over the
mucous ridge of the pre-implant mouth.  The thick sutures snarled blackly
out of the deep fossa of the lower jaw. The dentist spoke easily of the
prospects of bone regeneration.  The stress to the patient is minimal.  He
spoke of his new venture into hypnosis derived anesthesia, how the patient
is able to block the natural release of adrenaline and other neurological
transmitters.  Instead, dopamine and mild neurological sedatives are
secreted.  The patient is able to remain absent of pain and distress while
the diamond-tipped drill punctures holes into the bone.  He paused and
showed the drill-bit and several slides depicting the process while glaring
triumphantly at his lascivious assistant who leered back from the shadow.

Jim Faber, they decided, would be their first patient.  The office was
empty besides the conspiring dentist and assistant.  Marge decided they
needed practice first.  An older, slightly disabled retiree would be easy
to manage while the kinks were ironed out, and the system became smooth as
silk.  So they happened upon poor Jim.  A Medicare patient in for
reconstructive surgery following a car accident.  Marge wanted the implants
in the front, and this was quickly and easily arranged on the chart.    The
dentist searched Marge's eyes from aslant, wondering at her take, her
madness.  She was blind with the thought of her plan.  Surely she wasn't
competent enough to carry it out.  Her eyes had become narrow squints as
her fingers bent the chart with burning desire.  The thought of it made her
wet.  She became larger as certain species of lizard are able to do by
spreading their spiny hoods.  Her breasts swelled against her white lab
coat and she grabbed hold of the curious dentist in one flickering motion,
both surprising him with the nature of the act and with the lightening
speed with which she was able to wield her portly body.  The flesh was
hungry.  It's billion cells cried out like a billion mouths.  The doctor
became weak as she grabbed up his cock and balls in her iron grip.   She
dragged him to the dental chair and slung him into place while twisting his
balls.  Her force was comparable to a man's, a strength wired into muscle
which was used to negotiating her own portly frame.  She quickly went about
the business of hooking him up to the nitrous oxide.  He submitted to its
sweet smell and remembered the little jokes he would always make when
putting patients under.  Mixing you up the house special, you're at the
beach .... do you hear the gulls?  and that's when Marge would whisper little
screeches into the dazed patient's ear from behind.  She would increase the
volume slowly as if the imaginary bird (which sounded more like a meat
hungry vulture) were getting closer.  She would then hang a little white
rag off a rod and bounce it around like it was attacking the good dentist.
The dentist beat it down with his scalpel and the patient's eyes would swim
in etherized bewilderment.
That's how the dentist's eyes swam now, glazed and incongruous.   He felt
like he was falling over as Marge tilted the chair back to a negative angle
 leaving his head barley off the ground.  He felt the vague sensation of
tightness on his arms and legs as straps were fastened.  Then he was
engulfed, his whole head disappearing as flesh descended.  Oxygen was
replaced by the pungent odor of curdled sweat and vaginal juices.  Marge
had him and thought about finishing him off.  She needed the little prick
though, so she clamped tightly with her mounds of thigh and gyrated a few
vigorous strokes and dismounted.  She switched off the green tank and
returned the chair to upright configuration.  The room started swimming
back into view, objects merging back with their twin images.  "That's just
a taste of it," she whispered.

The dentist met with his psychiatrist the following day to load up on
clonapin and ativan.  The DEA had officially warned him regarding a high
frequency of self-prescribing, thus pushing him to explore alternate
avenues.  The visit was brief - cursory inquiries into the dentist's
drinking and drug problem, his sexual obsessions.  Throughout their
relationship, the psychiatrist was uncomfortable with certain details, and
the dentist respected this, keeping his answers vague and throwing in
friendly proverbs, like a "rolling stone gathers no moss."  At the end of
the appointment, noticing something in the chart, the psychiatrist inquired
into suicidal ideation.   During the initial interviews the dentist had
perseverated on the futility of life.  The psychiatrist was aware of a
general lack of courage on the dentist's part to carry anything through,
but prescription refilling required that he ask.

The dentist left the office with the two scripts gripped tightly in his
hand.  The pressures of the office and the emptiness of his life became two
dysfunctional circuits and the drugs served as resistors along the loops.
There was also this new stress, Marge and her hideous plan.  Tonight, at 7
pm, they would capture their first victim and abduct him to Marge's
suburban home.  Marge would keep him during the healing stage, since her
house in the woods was the embodiment of privacy.  The dentist reviewed the
plan incessantly along the way and was still lost in logistical reverie
when the pharmacist, a svelte and quiet Asian woman, repeated, "Can I help
you?"  The dentist thrust the scripts onto the countertop, crumpled and
damp from his sweaty grip.  "Please, I need these refilled".

Jim Faber was required by the dentist to undergo a medical clearance exam
for the implants.  Being generally a self-sufficient, anti-medication type,
Jim was not one to frequent the doctor's office.  The prospect of missing
work was also highly prohibitive, since Jim prided himself with having the
best attendance record the company had seen since his hiring 40 years back.
The idea of discarding his bulky dentures and once again being able to eat
solid foods made the visit more easily stomached for Jim.  His dentist had
thankfully, and generously, gone out of his way to secure a 6:30 pm
appointment, ensuring that Jim's employee record be preserved.

Marge and the dentist hid behind their rented van in the parking lot since
there was no shrubbery or tree-life on the grounds.  HMOs had ruthlessly
turned off the faucet and only outcome-justified expenditures were allowed
for, leaving only hospital encasings where machines and pills were housed.
Jim appeared over the steel grid bridge that rose out of the bowels of the
hospital and led to the parking lot.  He strode methodically through the
twilight of a spring dusk, dragging a bum left leg behind him.  Marge
crouched behind the Dentist, leaning on him for balance, whispering a
play-by-play account of the abduction.

"OK, here the crippled bastard comes.  Over the bridge, over the long
bridge.  There, he has his medical clearance in that manila folder.  We won
't be needing that.  Your syringe is loaded with the good stuff.  Here he
comes.  I will repay you for this, don't worry.  You just do your job. "

The dentist, despite the coolness of the evening, had begun sweating
through the collar of his shirt.  He was both nervous and excited.  He felt
the damp breath of Marge on the nape of his neck.  The syringe in his right
hand was loaded with phenobarbital, an agent commonly used in operating
rooms to induce anesthesia.  He hoped that Jim did not have any respiratory
problems, since one of the side effects of the drug was respiratory
depression.  He had loaded into the van a flexible endotrachelal tube and
some oxygen just to be on the safe side, since he had not yet had a chance
to read the medical clearance report, which Jim kept tucked under his arm
as he approached the parking lot.  At the moment Jim passed the van, Marge
and the dentist made their move.  Marge called out to Jim and they both
walked toward their unsuspecting victim.

"Hey, doc.  Funny to run into you now, I just got my clearance for the
operation."

The dentist was stuck for words, so Marge helped out.

"Oh, let's take a look.  Do you remember me, Mr. Faber?  I'm the assistant
at the office."

"How could I forget, your so...unforgettable.  You gave me that strawberry
goo to bite into.  Funny to run into you here."

Marge took the folder from under Jims arm and began flitting through the
paper work.  The chest x-ray fell to the cement and when Jim bent down to
pick it up, the dentist thrust the needle into his buttock with a strange,
excited yelp and pushed the drug into the muscle.

"Owe," said Jim as he rubbed his behind, his face contorted into a confused
smile.  Then he buckled into Marge with the next beat of his heart, as the
drug hit the brain.  Marge grabbed him by his thin wisps of hair and belt
buckle.  Together the dentist and his surgical assistant shuffled over to
the van with Jim dangling between them.  Marge drove and the dentist
assessed respiratory status.  He decided in the end not to intubate but
rather to apply oxygen externally.  As he fastened the mask over their
unconscious victim he marveled at how smoothly it all went.  The van
bounced out of the virtually empty parking lot, onto the freeway that was
framed by the most glorious sunset.  It was difficult for Marge to keep to
55 mph in all her excitement, so she shifted her enormous body often and
drove close to the wheel.  Her thoughts anticipated various thing, such as
feeding requirements, antibiotic prophylaxis, etc.  If she didn't do it
nobody would.  The dentist to her mind was almost good for nothing.
Almost.  There was one inkling of his potential utility that came to mind
and stretched her lips  a hideous smile.  Also, Technical expertise was not
what Marge was thinking of.   Marge had assisted on so many full mouth
extractions followed by titanium ballast implantation that she felt
confident to perform the surgeries herself.  Maybe she would have the
dentist guide her through a few at first.  Marge was sure of the dentist's
total submission, but also sensed a loose cannon quality to him, especially
during his cyclical mood-swing episodes.  Perhaps this could be corrected,
but the effort involved may not be worth it, thought Marge.  She was
getting ahead of herself, she realized, and brought her attention back to
the task at hand.  The busy city traffic had given way to spacious
suburbia, and finally to the winding woods and field-lined road to her
home.

They pulled into Marge's driveway leading up to the house she and her
former husband had built 15 years ago.  The nearest neighbor lived several
acres away.  The two conspirators carried in the body, one arm over each
shoulder, and then the dentist fetched the rest of the equipment from the
van which consisted of the oxygen tank; bags of saline mixed with
analgesics, various anesthetic agents, and antibiotics; several IV lines;
gauze pads; alcohol swabs; and the surgical instruments.  The anesthesia
was beginning to lift by the time all preliminary chores had been carried
out, so the dentist inserted a continuous IV line.  As he was doing so, Jim
Faber flopped his arms about lazily and uttered nonsensical phrases to
absent people the dentist assumed to be friends or family.  Marge was
pleased with this trial run so far, but was distracted by all the details.
She filled her love seat smoking long thin cigarettes and crushed them out
with red lipstick stains into the glass ashtray.  The dentist was scurrying
around like an OR tech, setting up the makeshift arena for the atrocity to
come.  Outside it was dark and she could hear the crickets.  Her world was
waking up for spring.  She scolded the dentist when he forgot to shut the
screen door letting in maverick moths and hunger-crazed mosquitoes.  The
dentist apologized, looking at Marge's swollen feet trapped in her shoes.
He was unsure of his decision but he reveled in the sinister nature of it.
Like a man harboring a plan to end the world, the dentist basked in the
light of glory and the mire of remorse.  When the dentist had finished
setting up (directly in front of Marge in her love seat), Jim Faber was
still swimming in his chemical sleep.  Bags of saline and antibiotics
drained down from Marge's multi-pronged coat rack stand.  Oxygen and
nitrous oxide tanks fed into his mask.

"I want you to explain everything.  I will be taking care of him and need
to know all the details.  Plus if you chicken out, I'll know myself."

So the dentist vocalized all his decisions and the indications they were
based on, not unlike morning rounds during his surgical residency years.

He explained the principles of anesthesia and intubation of the respiratory
tract first.  Saline fluid administration, he explained, is based on
weight, age, and time surgically exposed. The first surgical step is in
making the flap.  The blade easily cuts the well-vascularized mucosa,
rendering little swelling rivulets of blood.  The flap on this gentleman
would be close to the bone, the remaining teeth being already quite loose.
The cartilage pockets will be filled with a half synthetic, half organic
matrix of regenerating bone.  Silk black sutures will close up along the
ridge of gum, stick in a wad of gauze, and wait for healing.  After 1 month
comes the insertion of the titanium implants.   They would be situated
anteriorly, according to Marge, 2 up top, 2 on the bottom, so as to allow
for maximal clitoral stimulation.  Marge would be responsible for keeping
the victim alive and aseptic.  She insisted on IV nutrition as insurance
against maverick hunger strikes of protestation.  If the patient, in
addition, succumbed to the pangs of hunger, then Marge would motherly spoon
in some of the baby food which she had stocked in several nutritious
flavors, including sweet potato, her personal favorite.  A Foley catheter
would take care of the urine, and Jim would be fitted with disposable
pampers.  Marge had never been a mother, but had always imagined that she
would be good at it.  This baby would be harnessed with cuffs and sedated
by an intravenous drip, tools the average mother was bereft of.

Meanwhile, the machinery of society spun on with out a glitch.  The dentist
continued on with the busy practice, smoozing as always with the partners,
and with perhaps more zeal since the day of the kidnapping.  Marge
continued showing up for work.   She ran the office, all the other
assistants and secretaries conspired like usual behind her back.  She
refrained from overtly abusing the dentist since she knew that gossip
crouched like a hungry boxed toad.  She watched him closely and waited for
after-hours.  She would report on the condition of the patient and the
dentist would review her Polaroid shots and EKG strips and daily vital
signs.  Then the dentist was pleased to be slapped down and trod on by the
heavy sadist.  In the end she would be on top of his face where she would
empty out after a successful search for orgasm.  He imagined her a ruthless
queen who did not bestow mercy to every sniveling dog.  Only to the good
dogs, the one's who endured it.  The dentist admired and feared her.  After
one particularly empty afternoon, studded by one cancellation after
another, the office closed early.  Marge and the dentist lingered behind,
finishing up deskwork and dictations.

"He's ready," Marge said.  "Our little patient is ready".

"Did you bring anything"?

"No.  Everything you need is there, with the patient.  You'll see him
shortly."

"Well what exactly happens next?"

"Don't pretend to me," said Marge disgustedly.

"Well, I mean what do we do with the body.  There's gonna be a fucking
body," said the dentist.

"I know what I'm doing with them!" she said and slapped her beefy hand
across his jaw.
"You're ready?"  The dentist did not respond but was either lost in thought
or surprised from the sudden slap.

"I said, are you ready?"  The dentist looked at her and the world seemed
suddenly heavy, the walls holding more color.

"I am ready," he said and shoved his fist for his keys.

Back at her cabin, Marge breathed deeply, her brow lowered and her
shoulders set squarely.  She leaned her palms on Faber's sternum and
stretched her fingers along his protuberant ribs.  The dentist had one job,
which was to help manage access to air when Marge leaned forward and began
lifting her rump.  He gathered the rolls of flesh in his hands and lifted
them off the patient's forehead and flushed cheeks.  Faber's moans and
screeches became unmuffled but were still mostly unintelligible garble.
The implants glistened in all their titanium glory and seemed like the
incisors of a rodent-human hybrid under Faber's fattening and spittled
lips.

"Down you go...get a good breath this time," said Marge as she straightened
up, resting her arms akimbo.   Faber's lower torso and legs stretched the
length of the surgical table, which miraculously held steady under the
weight.  It was rigged such that Marge could reach the floor with her
tiptoes, her buttocks swallowing Faber's upper body and head.  Marge rested
comfortably on top, casually inspecting her long glossy nails.  The body
under her began rattling against the restraints, at which point she leaned
slightly forward and thrust her massive hips several times, using the rails
of the table for support.  The dentist again attended to lifting the flesh
off Faber. His mouth worked frenetically for air and loud gasps came when
finally freed of its pubic prison.

"Oohh, that feels so good baby when you try to bite and suck at the oxygen
which I alone control.  Look, he's turning a nice shade of purple."

The dentist looked over Marge's shoulder to appreciate this observation.
The long purple body reminded him of a penis filling with venous blood.  He
began massaging Marge's neck gently which was damp with sweat.

"Are you ready for your final breath baby?"  asked Marge in a sing-song
playful voice.  "Go ahead ....take it ..." she said but Faber choked out
howls and wails prompting Marge to jab her buttocks back down to shut him
up.

"Too late...... you had your chance.  I warned you.  And you back there,
stop touching me!  Get where I can see you.  Your job is over."

The dentist repositioned himself at the foot of the bed.  He watched Marge
push her nails into the flesh underneath her as she rocked and thrust, her
eyes closed in pleasure.  The trapped victim began struggling for breath
within seconds.  Marge's brow wrinkled in concentration, she began to bear
down in short stabbing gestures, letting out husky moans.  Faber began
convulsing, his pallor more bluish than before, his head struggling to turn
to the side.  He tried chewing through the flesh entrapping him but, alas,
his gummy two-pronged bites gave only more pleasure to the beast on top.
Marge tossed her head back and released a furious scream as she climaxed,
as life fled away from Faber's twitching muscles.  The excitement was too
much for her.  She dismounted the corpse with an agility that surprised the
dentist.  She was breathing heavily, staring at the dentist, walking slowly
toward him.  Her right hand was behind her back, with her left she grabbed
his hair and pushed his head to the ground.

"Did you like the show, you sick bastard?"  she sneered.  She sat on his
sagging back and yanked his trousers down.  She brought forth her right
hand which gripped a syringe, and lifted it to the ceiling before plunging
it into the dentist's buttock.  The dentist squealed and kicked his leg out
as the narcotic jet filled his muscle.  Marge pulled back his head to
witness the reaction.  She imagined the sweaty, shocked face of the dentist
peering pleadingly.  What she saw instead was a smile.

`Enjoy those teeth while you still got `em doc,' she said.

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