A Less Than Fantastic Voyage
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
by Andrew Nellis
a.k.a. the Poison Pen
copyright 1998
[Based on a milieu created by Gator]
The end of the world as we knew it came not with a bang, but with a press
release. I am referring, of course, to the Portasizer, that most useful of
household appliances. Think back on it. Do you remember the day they first
announced it to the world? No, I don't either. Like all things which bring true
change -- the printing press, the telephone, the car, the computer -- no one
really pays attention until you wake up one day and realize the world you used
to know is gone.
Oh, I know, you've read it all before. The shelves are clogged with books by
every hack in search of a buck, about how it's changed our lives, either for the
better or the worse, depending on who's doing the writing. Lots of us held our
collective breath waiting to see what would happen, back when those first
Portasizers were the size of a compact car and only places like NASA or IBM
could afford one. I guess there must be people who are still waiting to see how
it all turns out, the way some people still refuse to have a computer or a
telephone in their homes. On the day the first "Portasizing for Dummies" book
was published, I think most of us looked around and realized that half our
friends either owned one or had access to one, and the genie was out of bottle.
The Portasizer is here to stay.
I was an intern at Milenko General, just starting to think about going for a
specialization, when the hospital bought its first Portasizer. Perhaps it was
fate that the chief surgeon at Milenko, Dr. Scott Grildrig, was to pioneer a
whole new field of medicine which became known as endonautics, for he was also
my friend and my mentor, and, on at least one hazy occasion after too many
post-surgery martinis, my lover.
"Vivian, take a look at this article," Scott had said one day, handing me a copy
of the latest Lancet. In those days, I was on call 24 hours a day and rarely got
more than five hours of sleep a night, so if he hadn't pointed it out to me, I
would never have seen it. I scanned it quickly, frowning at the references to,
and I quote, 'quantum sub- atomic reduction of mass in organic tissues.'
"Sounds like science fiction," I said. Near as I could figure, it meant real,
honest-to-God shrinking, like in the fairy tales. Of course, that was in the
days before the Portasizer had come into common use, handily shrinking every
pollution problem we've ever had in a flash of light. "Is this some kind of
silly prank? Who did the peer review?"
"I did," Scott said, his eyes twinkling. "Tell me, does anything suggest itself
to you? No? Well, perhaps this image will suggest something. Picture an
inch-tall surgeon..."
And that's how I found my specialty. That's right, I'm an endonaut, one of the
few women in the field. Oh, sure, it sounds romantic. I thought so too, the
first time I saw Scott climb inside a living heart and repair it by hand, the
way a stonemason would repair a fireplace. The thrill quickly wore off when
Scott started me practising in actual cadavers. You don't realize just how
physically taxing everything becomes when you're an inch or two in height;
fortunately, I keep myself in fighting trim with regular workouts. Back then, we
worked in wetsuits, and more or less by feel. There were no textbooks. We were
pioneers in an era of breathless new medical advances. Then, as the technique
spread, the first accidents were reported and we were all instantly sobered. A
clumsy nurse accidentally tearing a surgeon into two pieces with forceps during
an operation. Cadavers being sewn up and frozen or incinerated with students
still inside. A muscle spasm in an improperly anaesthetized patient crippling an
orthodontic surgeon between two clenched molars. It wasn't a game any longer.
There were very real risks involved.
These days I run my own private clinic, with my own name on the shingle. Vivian
Sawyer, PhD Endonautics. That's me. We've come a long way since those early
days, and our equipment is every bit as specialized as any astronaut's. Advanced
cybernetics takes the place of what used to be sheer muscle power, which is good
because I'm not as young as I used to me. I'll never see my fortieth birthday
again, but my work keeps me fit and I haven't yet spent a night alone that I
didn't want to.
I don't remember the day I met Lisa Brandt for the first time. There was nothing
about her which impressed itself on me, and it's likely that we will never know
why she did the things she did. Certainly it's too late to find out now. In my
notes, I can see that Lisa, only just then having turned sixteen, came for her
first consultation visit with her mother, Jacqueline. Lisa had been referred to
me by a gastro specialist who had met me at a medical conference the year
before. My services are not cheap, and most insurance companies won't pay for
endonautic work. Even though the results are demonstratably and statistically
superior to conventional treatment, it does cost more. That meant the Brandt
family was probably quite wealthy, which turned out to be the case.
Lisa had been complaining of sharp abdominal cramping for several weeks. Neither
x-rays nor biopsies had been conclusive, though there was a suspected partial
blockage somewhere in the upper intestinal tract. There were a number of
potential treatments, but endonautics offered the least painful -- though,
ironically, the most intrusive. It is perhaps unsurprising that many people balk
at the idea of having another person, even a doctor, actually inside their body.
It's irrational, but our bodies are our most personal possession. Even I prefer,
if I can find one, a female rather than male endonaut when I get my yearly
pelvic exam. It's for this reason that I like to spend time getting acquainted
with my patients, to put them at ease. If they like me, they don't seem to mind
as much when I go crawling through their innards.
I made no mention in my notes, but I know I must have explained to both Lisa and
her mother in great detail the procedure which I would use. I would use a
medical Portasizer to reduce myself to slightly less than an inch in height, and
would allow myself to be swallowed by Lisa, who would remain awake throughout
the entire operation. It's important that the patient be conscious, so that
normal digestion takes place. After a brief examination of Lisa's stomach, I
would enter the small intestine proper through the duodenum and begin a more
thorough examination. Within 24 hours, I would have travelled the entire length
of Lisa's digestive tract and be excreted.
It goes without saying, of course, that I would remain safe inside my endosuit
the entire time. If you have never seen one, they resemble something like a
cross between a suit of medieval plate mail, a gorilla, and a particularly bulky
space suit. Full size, it stands seven feet tall, weighs in excess of a thousand
pounds, and its cybernetic servos are strong enough to lift a truck. There is a
two- inch-thick armour of glaze-hardened ceramic which covers the entire
structure except for the face-plate, which is perspex. The ceramic is harder
than the best steel, and won't dissolve in the high-molarity hydrochloric acid
secreted by the stomach, though it is somewhat brittle and can be damaged by a
sharp blow. The suit has its own life support system complete with air recycler,
and a power supply made from a miniaturized slow-breeder nuclear reactor.
Equipped with a whole set of specialized tools for internal surgery, the
occupant is totally self-sufficient inside it. The suit is worth more than my
net income for five years, and I am justifiably proud in owning one.
That day, I would have held the endosuit in the palm of my hand, reduced to the
size at which I would be wearing it, a little bit more than one inch. It's far
too heavy and molecularly dense for me to justify the expense of reducing and
enlarging it for anything except maintenance. Even then, I have found it cheaper
to reduce the technician, if he's willing, than to grow the suit. I would have
shown it to Lisa and her mother, and explained how the suit worked. After slowly
outlining the steps I would take, I would have given Lisa a dozen simulated
endosuits to practice swallowing and scheduled her for an appointment within two
weeks. The entire operation would be done on the premises of my office, which
possesses a fully-equipped surgery.
It was a common enough procedure. It's time-consuming, but not at all difficult
or dangerous, and I did at least two dozen of them a year. And that's probably
why I remember nothing about Lisa until the day of the actual operation, the
events of which have been burned into my memories as if by fire.
* * *
The inside of the BMW sedan was silent with brittle hostility as Manfred
Brandt pulled out of the driveway. His knuckles, which were visible through his
kid driving gloves, were white on the steering wheel and his heavily-browed
forehead scowled deeply. Beside him, Jacqueline had her face turned away, as if
she was deeply interested in something outside her window. In fact, she felt
trapped in the suffocating atmosphere inside the car, and in her mind, she was
flying free in the blue sky above, far from the stress which had become such an
omnipresent part of their family life. Unconsciously, her fingers twisted at the
pearls around her neck, as if it was a hated collar which bound her.
"I hate you," said Lisa, from the back seat behind her father. She knew from
experience that he couldn't reach her there while he was driving, and she would
have plenty of warning if he pulled over to the side of the road. "I'm going to
run away from home."
Manfred ground his teeth and stared furiously at the road ahead. He was
determined not to sink to the level of shouting, and he knew if he opened his
mouth, it would either be a satisfyingly glottal german profanity or a roar of
anger. Jacqueline was being her usual distant self, floating along, he assumed,
with the help of whatever brand of downers her tamed analyst was prescribing
this week. He despised her for what he saw as a typically feminine weakness, but
grudgingly admitted that he preferred her doped and distant to shrewish and
screaming, which seemed to be her only other mood these days.
"I mean it," said Lisa. "I'm going to run away and let anyone who want to, fuck
me. I'll give blow-jobs to all your shareholders and they'll laugh when I tell
them I'm your daughter."
Manfred hunched his head unconsciously into his shoulders, as if he was being
beaten, which was a mistake. Lisa saw it and realized that her current line of
assault was making progress.
Lisa narrowed her eyes smiled bitterly. "Then I'll fuck their servants and maybe
even their favourite dog. And while I'm screwing Rover in front of their kids,
I'll scream 'Oh Manfred, you're the best Manfred, even if your dick is kind of
small.'"
A white-hot flash of fury blinded Manfred, and he wrenched the wheel savagely to
the side, sending the BMW screeching onto the shoulder of the road. Only the
anti-lock brakes kept him from swerving in a fishtail into oncoming traffic as
horns blared around the sliding car. Jacqueline gave a sharp cry as her forehead
bounced off the side window. Even before the car had stopped moving, Manfred was
twisting in his seat, grabbing for Lisa, who was struggling to make herself a
smaller target by crouching down behind the seat.
"You little whore!" roared Manfred, reaching around, grabbing a big handful of
his daughter's bleach-blonde hair and pulling, causing her to give a cry of
pain.
"Stop it!" said Jacqueline, her placid demeanor cracking as her voice rose two
octaves. Tears began welling up, threatening to make a ruin of her mascara. "I
can't take it! Just stop it!"
"Ow, my stomach, ow," shouted Lisa with questionable veracity, as she tried
unsuccessfully to yank her hair free.
"Fred! No! The bruises," hissed Jacqueline as her huband brought back his other
hand for a punch.
Manfred's poised fist stopped in mid-air and the car was silent for two whole
seconds while he fought down his rage. The sun glinted on the large gold ring on
the middle finger of his fist. Like a bitter pill, he swallowed his anger, where
it became a burning coal in his stomach. Slowly, he uncurled his fist and let go
Lisa's hair. He began to tremble in a delayed reaction to the adrenaline pumping
through his system.
Lisa looked straight into her father's eyes and smiled. It was a gloating,
cynical smile that said: "I win."
Things had first begun to disintegrate for the Brandts the previous year. Lisa,
the only child in a household of more than moderate wealth -- Manfred was the
CEO of a bank which had started as a small neighbourhood trust in Lisbon and
grown into a Fortune 500 company -- was accustomed to getting what she wanted,
and when she was fifteen, she decided that what she wanted was her father.
It had been easy. Lisa had waited until the night her father had consumed rather
more than the two cocktails to which he normally limited himself, and then
seduced him. A bathrobe that wasn't closed completely, a playful kiss turning
suddenly serious, and then his hands were all over her. It had been thrilling at
first, a taboo and forbidden pleasure, but Lisa had quickly discovered what her
mother had known for years: Manfred might be a fireball in the boardroom, but he
was a dud in the bedroom.
Since then, Lisa had played her cards for all they were worth, extracting every
concession she could get away with from her father until her blackmail had
become too much for him to bear. In the chaos which resulted from the ensuing
clash, the household had been totally shattered. Jacqueline had known almost at
once what had happened between father and daughter, even before Manfred had told
her in a clear and emotionless voice. She retreated to twice-weekly analysis and
chemical solace. Manfred kept whatever feelings he might have had to himself,
and spent less and less time at home. Instead, he chose to spend his time
working, and leaving Lisa to be raised more or less by the servants.
Lisa's sly, malicious nature quickly made her even more hated than her father,
who was roundly despised as a tyrant by the servants. It culminated in two maids
whom Lisa had especially disliked vanishing without a trace one night, and
Manfed was livid with rage, good help being so difficult to find. None of the
other servants affected to know where the two women had gone. He become
convinced that Lisa had orchstrated it.
And now had come the final straw. Lisa had been found in the shed by the
gardener with her skirts around her ankles, screwing the son of one of the
valets. It was intolerable. She had become the gossip of all the servants, and
Manfred would not stand for it. Despite, or even because of Lisa's protestations
of love for Teddy, the scruffy young man with the tattoo and the rings in his
face, Manfred had paid off the valet and sent him away with his family.
Jacqueline touched her forehead where she had bumped it, hoping there wouldn't
be a mark. Since Manfred had taken to using his fists, she had more than once
spent days wearing dark glasses or long sleeves around the house to hide the
bruises from the servants, whom she imagined, falsely, did not know. She was
terrified that outsiders might find some kind of mark on Lisa, and that she,
Jacqueline Brandt nee Chanelle, would be thought a Bad Mother. What would the
women at the Club say?
Lisa settled wordlessly back into her seat as her father pulled back into the
road. Her hand went to her abdomen as a sudden twinge made her wince in pain.
Though she often used it to her advantage, Lisa was, in actuality, suffering
from very real cramps. If the pain had not steadily increased, she would never
have consented to sit in the same car with her parents, much less spend a whole
day and night in their presence while everyone waited for her to take a shit.
The remainder of the trip was made in icy silence. Lisa had made her point, and
she knew just exactly how far she could push her father.
The Brandt family was met in the waiting room of the clinic by Sven Holmgaard,
Dr. Sawyer's assistant. He was actually a registered nurse, but with his
six-foot tall, solidly packed Nordic build, no one could ever seem to bring
themselves to call him Nurse Sven. When he spoke, it was with just the slightest
trace of Finnish accent.
"Dr. Sawyer is just getting ready for you," said Sven, coming out from behind
the large, modern, glass-and-chrome desk. "You have done as you were told,
Lisa?"
Manfred answered before Lisa could open her mouth. "Exactly as the booklet you
gave us said. She's had eight hours' sleep, and a big breakfast with plenty of
bran."
"Good, good," said Sven, clapping his big hands. Then if you will come into the
examination room, Dr. Sawyer will join us in a few moments."
The examination room was actually very large, a combination of operating theatre
and electronics lab. The lighting was subdued but indirect and shadowless. Faint
strains of modern classical music played from hidden speakers, and the floor,
while bare, was softly padded and coloured a warm taupe to match the walls. In
the very centre of the floor was an examination table which, while it did not
look precisely inviting, was more like a high divan, amply padded for comfort.
Scattered around the room were three large leather chairs.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," said Dr. Sawyer as she bustled into the room. She
wore a white labcoat and her long, black hair was tied back from her face into a
tight ponytail. "Is everything ready?"
"Yes, Dr. Sawyer," said Sven. He and the doctor were on a first name basis, and
they had even slept together a couple of times, but in front of the patients she
was always Dr. Sawyer. When they came to her, prepared to submit their bodies or
their loved ones to her skill and judgement, they wanted Apollo, the God of
Medicine; not the human, and thus fallible, Vivian Sawyer.
"Splendid," said Dr. Sawyer. "Lisa, if you'll get changed and hop up, we'll get
things started."
Lisa took the thin paper gown which Sven proferred and looked mildly amused. She
quickly shucked her clothes and shrugged into the gown, then climbed up on the
examination table and laid down. She submitted to a brief but thorough
examination by Dr. Sawyer. "What's it going to feel like?" asked Lisa, trying to
keep the nervousness out of her voice.
Dr. Sawyer smiled. "You may experience a little discomfort, and if you do, I
want you to tell Sven. I'll be very careful, I promise. If there is any pain,
we'll administer a local anaesthetic, but that shouldn't be necessary. We'd
prefer not to do that if we don't have to. Have you been practising swallowing
the endosuit?"
Lisa nodded as Dr. Sawyer checked her blood pressure. "Yeah, it's pretty easy if
I let my throat relax. It's like a really big pill."
Finishing her examination, Dr. Sawyer stepped back and smiled warmly at Lisa.
"Good, then we're all set. Just remember the rules you learned and everything
will be just fine. No unnecessary movements, no sleeping, and drink plenty of
fluids. If you have trouble staying awake, Sven will read to you, or you can get
him to put some real music on instead of this damned muzak!"
Lisa giggled, and Dr. Sawyer laughed back.
Sven had been examining a piece of equipment that looked something like a large
camcorder on a wheeled tripod. He pressed a button and a soft, rising whine
filled the room, then tapered off. "Ready when you are, Dr. Sawyer."
"Is that the Portasizer?" said Manfred, speaking for the first time.
"Yes it is," said Dr. Sawyer, as she walked over to the far end of the room,
where a white circle had been scribed on the floor.
"It doesn't look like the ones we have at home," said Jacqueline.
"This is a medical Portasizer," said Sven, without turning to look at her. "It's
more powerful, and a lot more accurate; we can specify tolerances down to one
ten-thousandth of a millimetre."
Dr. Sawyer removed her shoes, and then her labcoat, which she hung on a peg
placed just for that purpose. Underneath, she wore only a black body sock that
left absolutely nothing to the imagination. She was a very attractive,
large-busted woman. She felt more than saw the sharp interest from Manfred and
was inwardly pleased. Lisa seemed to be giving her more than just casual
attention too, which Dr. Sawyer noted with a wry lift of one eyebrow. She could
see that Lisa, while not as bosomy as she was, would be a real heartbreaker some
day. Dr. Sawyer, though, was firmly hetero and planned to stay that way, so she
could judge Lisa's physical appeal only in a theoretical way.
"It's going to be very warm inside Lisa," explained Dr. Sawyer. "The endosuit
can keep me cool, but there's no need to tax it more than is necessary. Alright,
I'm all set. Oh, and Lisa, please remember not to chew."
Lisa's eyebrows went up in surprise.
"Going on three from mark," said Sven.
"Mark," said Dr. Sawyer, staring straight at the short barrel of the Portasizer,
which pointed at her midsection.
"One, two, three," said Sven, counting off the seconds. On three, Sven's finger
depressed the firing stud. The room lit up with a flash of bright white light,
and there was a sudden tang of ozone in the air. The Portasizer made its
trademark crackling bark. Dr. Sawyer was now a minute, black, insect-sized speck
on the floor. Sven took the miniaturized endosuit from its usual holder on the
counter and placed it gently on the floor, several inches away from the tiny
doctor.
"She looks like a bug," said Lisa with an unpleasant smile. "I can see why she'd
be worried about me chewing."
Sven gave a rumbling chuckle. "She warned you not to chew for your sake, not for
hers. Your teeth would break before the endosuit did. Dr. Sawyer will be fine.
She's a tough lady."
* * *
The vertigo hit me the way it always does, as the ceiling and walls seemed to
rush away from me in all directions. I stood very still for a second, just
allowing my brain to adjust to the sudden change in perspective. I watched
Sven's suddenly gargantuan form lumber away to the distant mountains of the
counter, and then return with the endosuit in his hand. The vibration of his
footsteps shook the floor under my feet as he came close. Fingers the size of
oak trees put the endosuit down in front of me, and as I began running through
the external safety check, I managed to catch the exchange between Lisa and
Sven. When you're less than an inch tall, the sound waves are so large that
normal voices drop several octaves. It takes skill to be able to catch words
which sound like rumbles of thunder. So why, you ask, don't I have the same
problem with light waves? Good question. The physicists are still arguing about
that one. If you figure it out, let them know.
When I was satisfied that the endosuit was undamaged -- there was little chance
of that happening, since I inspected before and after each time I used it, but
when you're this small, you don't take chances -- I cracked the shell open. It
eased open with a pneumatic hiss that told me the pressure seals were working
just fine. The whole torso swung open like an iron maiden, allowing me to step
backwards into the leg holes. I hooked up the catheter (I would prefer a diaper
but I am, after all, locked in with my own smell) and stuck my arms into the arm
holes. The torso swung slowly shut, and I was encased in a thousand pounds of
endosuit.
Self-diagnostics began running as soon as the suit closed. Green, all across the
board. I know endonauts who will operate with an amber light or two in
non-critical systems, but not me. I don't take risks I don't have to with a body
I hope has thirty or forty good years left in it.
I keyed the throat mike. "Hey Sven, you getting this?"
"Five by five," came the reply, in Sven's voice. The electronics make allowances
for the difference in size and step up the pitch for me.
I took a few steps back and forth, allowing the cybernetics to run
self-correction routines as it slaved itself to my nervous system. When I moved,
the endosuit would actually know before my body did which parts would be moving,
which effectively allowed me to move as if the endosuit was a second skin. I
certainly couldn't have moved its vast bulk with muscle power alone. "Ready for
insertion," I reported. I double-checked that the transponder through which my
position would be constantly monitored was working, and relaxed my muscles.
"Roger that," said Sven.
The huge fingers returned and the whole endosuit gave a lurch as Sven pinched it
between his thumb and index finger. External pressure gauges remained nominal. I
knew Sven would be squeezing the endosuit with more pressure than is strictly
necessary, since he knew it could not harm the suit, whereas if he dropped it,
it would shatter into a million pieces -- along with me. Everything grew dark as
the pad of his thumb pressed against the two-inch-thick perspex of the face
plate.
I had a sensation of rocking motion, and then I was standing in the concave boul
of a metal teaspoon. Lisa's face, as large as a drive-in movie screen to me, was
directly ahead. As I watched, she opened her mouth, revealing a cave full of
white stalactites and stalagmites. The spoon swept forward and I passed under
the arch of her top lip, past her teeth, and into the interior of her mouth. I
stepped from the spoon carefully, the feet of the endosuit sinking deeply into
the wet, pink flesh of Lisa's tongue. The light vanished as Lisa closed her lips
around the spoon, plunging me into utter blackness. I toggled the klieg lights
on, and the glistening flesh inside Lisa's mouth sprang into view. The spoon had
been withdrawn and now I was totally alone.
The tongue undulated beneath me. I forced my body to remain loose as I was
bounced head over heels to the back of Lisa's mouth. This was the worst part,
for me. Once I was in the stomach things would be relatively calm, but I was
going to pick up some bruises before I got there, despite the padding in the
endosuit. It could get especially bad if the patient couldn't swallow me on the
first try, and I ended up tumbling around again and again. That was why we gave
them imitation endosuits to practice on.
Lisa, to give her credit, did it on the first try. I was forced to the roof of
her mouth, and then I slid backwards in a slippery pool of saliva into the
yawning black tunnel which was the entrance to her esophagus. Her throat muscles
held me in a wet embrace, and began kneeding me down her throat. I dropped what
seemed to me seventy-five feet or so, accompanied by the magnified gurgling
sound of Lisa swallowing. At the end of the trip, both I and the accompanying
river of viscous saliva were squeezed through the sphincter at the end of the
esauphagus and into her waiting stomach. After a short fall of another twenty
feet or so, I landed noiselessly amidst the soft, folded crenellations in the
pit of her stomach. The world turned 90 degrees as Lisa laid down on her back,
and then there was no motion at all.
I laid still for a moment, checking the life support systems again, and found
them all green. Other than the usual bruising, I didn't seem to be hurt, so I
stood up and played the klieg lights around me.
Beautiful. No matter how many times I see it, the wonders of the human body,
seen alive and from within, never fail to bring me a religious sense of awe. I
stood only an inch tall in the sagging, meaty sack of Lisa's stomach, and it was
more beautiful to me than Westminster Abbey. All around me, the infinite folds
of Lisa's pinkly healthy stomach lining reached up, arching overhead toward the
tight pucker of its entrance. It was for sights like this that I became an
endonaut to begin with. Even as I stared, the walls began oozing a runny yellow
liquid, bile to protect the lining from the concentrated hydrochloric acid which
had begun to pool around my feet. The stomach muscles began to contract around
me and it was time to move on. I could tell at a glance that this was a healthy
stomach. The problem would lie somewhere farther down the digestive tract.
"Everything okay in there?" came Sven's voice from the speakers.
"Roger," I said, shaking myself out of my introspective mood. I was being paid
to do a job, not admire God's handiwork. "Stomach is looking fine. Tell Lisa to
relax and just let her body do what comes naturally."
"Got it," said Sven. "Call when you need me."
"Will do," I said, and keyed the mike off. Sven and I had a system, and we
trusted each other. Some endonauts like to chat while they're working. Not me.
Sven knew I would keep radio silence until I had found something that needed
reporting. Besides, he could track my location with the transponder, and if
anything like a total life support failure happened, Sven could have Lisa
unconscious and under the knife within two minutes -- which, of course,
explained why Lisa was wearing a tearaway hospital gown.
Muscular contractions were beginning to push me in the direction of the
duodenum. The air outside my face plate was hazy with the lung- searing fumes of
the acid which pooled up to my knees. I wouldn't have lasted five minutes
without the endosuit, which is why I take such careful precautions. I knew that
the acid was strong enough to dissolve even the perspex over time, so I made
sure to have the face plate replaced every few operations, when it showed any
signs of getting cloudy.
What seemed like thousands of gallons of water came thundering down around me as
Lisa drank her first glass of water, plunging me beneath the surface. The
muscular contractions became stronger. Through the murky, bile- and acid-filled
water, I saw the sphincter of the duodenum relax slightly, and allowed myself to
be carried through, as if I was a morsel of partially-digested food. I could
have forced my way through, but allowing Lisa's body to do the work for me meant
less discomfort for Lisa.
I had entered the small intestine. Most people think it must me like a sewer
tunnel made of flesh, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. There's a lot
of intestine, hundreds of yards of it, and if it was all inflated, you'd need an
abdomen the size of a van. For me, it was more like being rolled around inside a
thick, wet blanket. The water began draining quickly, and I allowed it to push
me, assisted by the muscular contractions of the small intestine itself. Picture
a snake trying to eat an egg just slightly smaller around than the snake itself,
and you'll get a good mental picture of what it's like.
Almost at once, I could see the inflammation. The lining of the intestine, which
should be silky-smooth and greyish-pink when it's healthy, was a somewhat darker
shade with patches and striations of angry red, and had a puffy, swollen
appearance. I popped the hypo built into the arm of the suit, which looks, at
the scale I was at, like a long, lethal spike, but is really a very slender
needle. I dialled up a broad-spectrum antibiotic and plunged the tip of the
spike into the wall of the intestine. It might give Lisa the runs for a few
days, but I didn't like the look of that swelling. A pneumatic pump hissed as as
the antibiotic was injected, and I kept the spike in place, fighting the
clutching contractions around me, until I heard the musical tone which informed
me I could retract the hypo. I let myself get pushed along once more.
Things continued this way for the next two hours. I was in what I call "doctor
mode," which means I had little sense of myself as anything more than a pair of
eyes. I clicked a few seconds of footage through the suitcam of the inflammation
around me for the files, but mostly I remained quiescent and watchful. It was
then, two hours into the operation, that I spotted the blockage.
There it was, big as life. I smiled when I saw it. It was a little smaller than
the endosuit, so it wasn't quite an inch across, and it was covered in a thick
cocoon of bile and decomposing food. I could see the deep red and purple
circles, like a target, around the spot where it was wedged into the side of the
intestine, nestled into a kink where it was already especially narrow. There was
enough room that I could probably have squeezed the endosuit through, so it was
only a partial blockage, but whatever had caused the obstruction was also
embedded in the flesh of the intestine itself. I played the klieg lights along
the wall of the intestine, noting the thick ridge of scar tissue where the
obstruction had torn the lining as it was dragged along by the contractions of
the intestine, stopping only when it reached this narrowing. Lisa was a lucky
girl. If it had torn all the way through, she would have been looking at a case
of peritonitis.
It was probably a chicken bone, I thought. I had seen enough cases like this to
know what to expect. I would pull it loose, and either break it up into smaller
pieces or smooth the sharp spot so it could slide out on its own. I could then
cauterize the wound, finish my reconaissance, and emerge successful. Still
smiling, I began wiping away the slimy coating from the obstruction.
* * *
"Sven, are you there?"
Sven was instantly alert. His head snapped up at the sound of Dr. Sawyer's voice
from the speaker. He knew her well enough to recognize the sound of distress,
though he knew the other people in the room would not. He made a show of smiling
and remaining calm. "Go ahead, Dr. Sawyer," he said to the invisible pick-ups.
Already he was running through a mental checklist of things he would have to do
to get the doctor out of there in a big hurry.
"I need something from Lisa's file," said Dr. Sawyer.
Sven smiled and nodded, rising casually from his chair. "Understood, I'm on my
way."
Dr. Sawyer needed no such thing, Sven knew. It was a code they had worked out
between the two of them, when she needed to say something out of the hearing of
the patient. Usually it was bad news. Sven went to the comm panel and toggled
the speakers and pick-ups off, switching it to private mode. "I'll be right
back," he said to Lisa and her parents as he left the room and closed the door
behind him.
Sven picked up the phone on his desk in the waiting room and pressed the 'link'
button. "Okay, Viv, I'm clear. Go head."
"We have a problem," said Dr. Sawyer. Her voice was the cool monotone she
reserved for crises. "I've found the obstruction. It's a car, Sven."
Sven frowned. "What, you mean a toy car? What do you mean by a car?"
"I mean a real car," said Dr. Sawyer. "It's been reduced to, uh, about three
quarters of an inch, I think. Sportscar, it looks like, mostly plastic, aluminum
engine. Not much metal to show up in an x-ray. It looks like a crumpled piece of
one fender is lodged in the lining of the small intestine."
"How the hell did she get a shrunken car inside her?" said Sven, scratching his
forehead with his fingers. "You're sure it's real?"
"Sven," said Dr. Sawyer, her voice still calm, "there are people in the car. The
doors are closed and the windows are rolled up. The inside is all rotted, but
there are two skeletal bodies in the front seat, and one in the back. It's
real."
Sven lowered himself into the chair. The silence grew while he rubbed his
forehead with his fingers, frowning down at the rolodex on his desk.
"Are you still there?" said Dr. Sawyer.
"Yes, yes, still here, Viv," said Sven. "Sorry. This... I have no idea how to
handle this. What do we do?"
"This car is evidence," said Dr. Sawyer. "I don't want to damage it, but I've
got to work it loose, or it could lacerate her intestine, and then we're looking
at peritonitis. First thing you do is get her parents aside and let them know,
then you call the police. I'll stay with the... obstruction, and try to guide it
through the rest of the digestive tract without it coming apart. If it starts to
break up, you may have to open her up and get it."
"Understood," said Sven, rising to his feet. He hung up and walked back into the
examination room, his mouth set in a thin slash. "Mr. and Mrs. Brandt, if you'd
like to come with me, please? We won't be long, Lisa. Just call if you need
anything."
Sven held the door for Lisa's parents, then closed it behind him as he joined
them. All three stood. Manfred looked grim, while Jacqueline looked frightened.
"Is there a problem?" said Manfred.
Sven nodded and looked away, then forced himself to look back into Manfred's
face. "I'm afraid so, Mr. Brandt. Now, before you start worrying, Lisa is fine.
Dr. Sawyer has found the obstruction, and she's removing it as we speak."
"But that's good news... isn't it?" said Jacqueline in a nervous voice. She was
twisting her pearls in her fingers again.
"Yes, Mrs. Brandt," said Sven. "The problem is the nature of the obstruction
itself. It seems to be an, um, an automobile. A very small automobile, a real
one. Dr. Sawyer says there are three people inside it."
Jacqueline gasped and put her fingers to her mouth. "Are they alive?"
"Don't be so stupid," snapped Manfred. "Of course they're not alive, you idiot
woman."
"Oh God," whispered Jacqueline. "It's those boys, isn't it. Lisa hated them! And
then they disappeared, and, oh God..."
"Shut up," hissed Manfred. His eyes moved to Sven, who stood staring at the two
of them as if he had turned over a damp stone and found something nasty living
there. "How much?"
Sven blinked. "Mr. Brandt?"
"You heard me," said Manfred, pulling his chequebook from the breast pocket of
his suit. "How much? Shall we make it one million? Will the Sawyer woman keep
her mouth shut?"
Sven's face hardened. "Dr. Sawyer is not that kind of woman."
Manfred nodded. "Fine. It's dangerous work, I'm sure accidents happen, yes? Poor
Dr. Sawyer, lost in the line of duty. How much do you want? Let's say two
million." His fountain pen scratched against the creamy paper of the personal
cheque.
From ears to neck, Sven's normally pale white skin flushed red with suppressed
anger. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the sudden melodic
tone of the telephone on his desk ringing. The room was pin-drop silent as Sven
lifted the receiver to his ear.
"What the hell is going on out there, Sven?" demanded Dr. Sawyer. "Unf! Why is
Lisa moving around? Ow! Dammit!"
Sven looked up at the door which led to the examination room and saw that it was
open a crack. He had taken care to close it quite firmly when he came out. His
face grew even more grim. "Hang on," he said, "I'll take care of it."
Sven put Dr. Sawyer on hold, then drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. He
knew Lisa must have heard everything, and would probably have to be restrained.
Well, that was no problem. The big Finn was an experienced nurse, and trained
for that. The examination table had restraining straps, tastefully discreet, and
he would use those if he had to. The important thing was to calm Lisa down
without causing unduly violent movement which could injure the tiny doctor
inside her.
"Lisa?" said Sven, going to the door. He put his hand on the knob and paused. He
didn't want to panic or frighten her. "Lisa, I'm coming in now, I just want to
talk, okay?" He opened the door and walked in, having only a fraction of a
second to realize that the Portasizer had been rolled across the floor to point
directly at the door, and that Lisa stood behind it.
"Fuck you, boyscout," said Lisa, and pressed the firing stud.
The Portasizer gave its sizzle-crack sound, and when the afterimages from the
flash of light had died away, the big Finn was now a tiny inch-tall form on the
floor.
"Lisa!" screamed Jacqueline, framed in the doorway beside her wide-eyed husband.
"What are you doing?"
"What I should have done a long time ago," said Lisa, her voice glacial with
frost. "And fuck you too."
The Portasizer gave a second sizzle-crack, and Lisa's parents became a pair of
snall, well-dressed figures on the floor, their inch-tall bodies struggling in
the plush of the carpeting in the waiting room.
Sven had begun running the second he understood what had happened, hoping to
make it to cover underneath the nearest counter. His flight came to a stop as a
bare foot which seemed to be more than 40 feet long slammed down directly before
him, like a huge, pink wall. He stared straight up the massive, apartment
building-sized pillar of her leg, hardly even noticing that he was looking up
her paper gown, and up to the eyes which stared down at him from seemingly
hundreds of feet overhead.
"You stupid asshole," said Lisa with a sneer. "You don't even have a lock-out
code on your Portasizer. I don't think I have any use for you, so, guess you get
to mnake like a bug."
Sven screamed and raised his arms is a useless gesture of self-defence as Lisa
brought her foot up -- and then brought it smashing down on top of him. He
vanished under the ball of her foot, and there was a wet crunching sound. Lisa
twisted her foot back and forth several times, as if she was putting out a
cigarette, and then slid it back across the floor, leaving a long smear of blood
and grease.
"Ew, messy," said Lisa. She laughed and drew a little circle with her big toe in
the blood, then crossed it out.
"You," said Lisa, as she padded barefoot into the waiting room -- leaving bloody
wet spots -- and extracted her struggling parents from the rug with her fingers.
"You I have plans for."
Lisa closed her eyes as she closed her fingers around her struggling parents,
shivering with the delicious feeling of hatred and power, only just barely able
to restrain herself from crushing them into a broken mass of flesh and bone.
God, how she despised them.
Quickly, Lisa dressed and dropped her inch-tall parents into the front pocket of
her jeans. As she came out of the examination room, tucking her shirt into her
pants, Lisa noticed the 'hold' light on the phone in the waiting room flashing.
She picked up the received and pressed the button.
"Sven!" shouted Dr. Sawyer. "What the hell are you doing? Sven...?"
Lisa smiled coldly. "And fuck you too, bitch," she said softly into the phone,
trailing her fingers lightly over her abdomen. Then she gently hung up the phone
and left the building.
Using her father's punch code, Lisa started the car and drove back to the
mansion. She didn't have a license, but no policeman who valued his badge would
randomly stop a car registered to the CEO of a major international bank. She
parked it haphazardly in the U-shaped drive in front of the house and, after a
brief detour to her bedroom, went immediately to a disused potting shed behind
the gardens, where she settled down to wait.
To pass the time, Lisa reached into her pocket and extracted her terrified
parents. She sat in a corner with her knees drawn up, and she placed them each
on one of knees so they were directly before her face. Peering at them closely,
she could see Manfred stood stock still with no expression on his face at all.
Jacqueline couldn't stand, and so she kneeled in her print dress, burying her
face into her hands as if this would make the world go away.
"I'm just waiting for Teddy," said Lisa in a conversational tone, making
Jacqueline look up. "Even after you sent him away, he comes back and fucks me."
Lisa saw her mother wince. "You don't like the word 'fuck,' is that it? Not that
a blame you or anything. I mean, Manfred's a pretty bad lay and all. Fucking
would bother me too if I was married to him."
A thought seemed to occur to Lisa, and she pursed her lips. "I guess I can do
anything I want now. I mean, I always get what I want anyway, that's what you
taught me, but I mean I don't have to worry about what anyone is going to
think."
Taking an outraged Manfred between her fingers, Lisa began carefully tearing his
clothes off with her fingernails, sticking her tongue out as she concentrated.
When she was done, she put him back on top of her knee.
"There," said Lisa. "That's the way I like to see you. Put on some weight,
haven't you? Look at that gut. I guess Old Ironsides Brandt is getting soft in
the middle." When she laughed, it was a soft, sly kind of laugh, the kind that
causes chills.
When she got no reaction from Manfred, Lisa turned her attention back to
Jacqueline, who had her back to her daughter's face and was huddled as small as
she could make herself with her legs tucked up inside her dress. She was rocking
quickly back and forth, and Lisa knew without even looking that she was twisting
her pearls ceaselessly in her hand.
"Such a pathetic cow," said Lisa, flicking a long fingernail at her mother's
back and sending her sprawling, nearly off the top of Lisa's bent knee to the
floor. Jacqueline quickly huddled herself into a ball again, tucking her head
down into her shoulders. "You make me sick."
Without speaking, Lisa used her fingers to tear the dress from her mother,
smiling at the high-pitched squeaks and chirps which were Jacqueline's loudest
and most ear-splitting shrieks.
"Oh, what will the girls at the Club say," mocked Lisa in a falsetto
imitation of her mother's voice. "Did I ever tell you I used your dildo once? I
found it while I was snooping in your room. I thought it was really hot to use
the same dildo my mother had shoved up her cunt. I licked it all over."
Jacqueline, naked except for her panties now, crouched as small as she could
with her head tucked between her knees and her hands over her ears. Manfred,
standing on Lisa's other knee, watched his wife with utter contempt.
"Verdammt," growled Manfred, his voice so small that only his wife had any
chance of hearing it. "For once in your worthless existence, show some dignity,
you useless, spineless, coward."
"Make it stop!" screamed Jacqueline. "Make it stop!" She repeated it over and
over until she broke into wracking sobs that stifled her words in her throat.
Lisa hummed to herself as she fumbled in her pocket for the ballpoint pen there.
With an expression of vague interest on her face, she rolled Jacqueline over
with a finger, so that her tiny cotton-clad buttocks were pointed up and
slightly raised. Then using one of her fingernails to roll down the panties, she
slid the nib of the pen between her mother's labia.
Jacqueline screamed at the outrage to her body. The nib was hard as steel, and
as thick around as her wrist. It rammed violently inside her until the very tip
slammed painfully into her cervix, depositing a thick blob of ink. While
Jacqueline writhed and screamed in pain and humiliation, Lisa repeatedly raped
her with the nib of the ballpoint, pumping it in and out like a huge dildo. Lisa
smiled the entire time. Only once the nib of the pen had been slicked with blood
did Lisa deign to remove it, leaving Jacqueline limp and sobbing, her hands
clutched to her bleeding groin.
Manfred turned his head away in disgust and spit. "Phaugh."
Lisa flicked her tongue over the nib of the pen. "Don't be so smug, Manfred.
You're next."
Manfred backed away a step. "Vas ist --" was as far as he got, before the
massive, tree-sized fingers of his daughter forced him onto his stomach. When he
felt the nib press its way between his buttocks, he let out a single hoarse
shout, and began to struggle helplessly against the restraining fingers. As the
nib rammed home, forcing its way up his rectum and stretching it until the
tissues began to tear, Manfred let out a low groan and turned his head to the
side -- where he was shocked to see his wife looking at him with such a look of
venomous, gloating hatred that he momentarily forgot the agony inside him.
While Lisa rammed the nib in and out of her father's rectum until it bled
freely, Manfred glared back at his wife and bit his tongue to keep from
screaming. He would not give that weak jellyfish the satisfaction of hearing him
scream. He suffered in quiet torment, while his anus was torn ragged, uttering
only the occasional pained grunt.
"Those three shitheads in the car weren't the first, you know," said Lisa as she
stopped raping Manfred for long enough to examine her handiwork. "I used the
Portasizer on those two maids, too. You should have seen the look in their
faces." Lisa laughed.
Deciding that she had done a good job, Lisa tossed the pen away into a corner
and smiled as she watched her parents try to staunch their bleeding orifices. "I
shrank the maids to three inches with the kitchen Portasizer, and made one watch
while I fed the other one to the gecko in the study. It was funny as hell
watching her little legs kicking in the thing's mouth. It looked like so much
fun I ate the other one myself. I had a lot of trouble swallowing her whole, so
I kind of bit parts off until I could get her down. Really messy, and it tasted
like shit."
Lisa shrugged. "Anyway, that's why, when those three guys from the Club pissed
me off that night, I made the their car nice and small. While the two of you
were still getting shitfaced in the bar, I followed them out into the parking
lot, got the Portasizer I had hid in the car, and let them have it. I swallowed
the entire thing whole. Made me laugh like crazy. I could feel the wheels
spinning in my throat. I never thought the damned thing would get lodged in my
guts, you know?"
Like a light switch, the smile turned off on Lisa's face. "They shouldn't have
called me a stuck-up bitch."
"Who's a stuck-up bitch?" said Teddy as he opened the door to the shed and
clomped inside. He wore heavy military boots with dungarees and a somewhat
battered leather jacket. Rings pierced his left nostril, one eyebrow, and both
ears. His hair seemed to nearly stand up on end, stiff with gel that made it
look wet. In build, he was stocky and solid, though not as powerful as Sven had
been.
"C'mere," said Lisa. She gathered Manfred and Jacqueline into her hand.
Teddy closed the door of the shed and threw himself down in a rustle of leather
beside Lisa. Leaning over, he pressed his face to hers, giving her a long,
open-mouthed kiss.
"Mmmm," said Lisa, smiling, when they broke apart. "I have a big surprise for
you."
"Yeah?" said Teddy. He ran the fingers of one hand through his hair to make sure
it was still sticking up. With his other hand he groped at Lisa's breasts
through her shirt.
"Stop it," giggled Lisa, slapping his hand away. "Let me ask you a question. You
think my mom is sexy?"
"Fuck yeah," said Teddy without thinking, only then realizing what he had said
and glancing over to see if Lisa was mad. He wasn't overly burdened with
intelligence, and he was forever falling into Lisa's traps. He was relieved to
see that Lisa didn't look angry, although there was something weird about her
mood he couldn't place.
"Would you fuck her if you could?" said Lisa. She lifted her eyebrows
suggestively.
Teddy scrutinized Lisa's face to see if he was being led into some kind of trap.
With a mental sigh, he acknowledged Lisa was too good at it for him to tell, so
all he could do was tell the truth and suck up later if he had to. "Yeah. She's
like, all upper class and stuff. You know, like that french chick that makes all
those clothes. Your mom is really hot."
Lisa grinned in a way that made Teddy nervous. "Here," said Lisa opening her
hand and holding it out to him. "Look at this."
"What the fuck," said Teddy. His eyes bugged. His jaw dropped open with a jingle
of steel rings. "Lisa! Those are, like, people!"
"Sure are," said Lisa.
"Lisa! Man, you can't do that," breathed Teddy, unable to tear his eyes away
from the two inch-tall little pink bodies in her hand. One shrank away from him,
trembling, while the other one struggled to its feet, defiant. "That's. like,
illegal or some shit like that. Your folks are gonna freak out totally."
"Teddy," said Lisa patiently, in the tone of voice teachers use on slow
students, "those are my parents."
Teddy goggled, first at the the tiny people, then at Lisa, and then back at the
tiny people. "Whoah. Oh man. That's some heavy shit. Oh Lisa, I don't feel good
about this. This is, like, uh... whoah."
A little smile crossed Lisa's lips. "Would you like to hold one?"
Teddy licked his lips nervously, and wiped his palms, which had suddenly become
damp, on his pants. "Uh, yeah. Okay. Which one should I... ?"
"Here, take Jacqueline," said Lisa. She held her hand over Teddy's, using the
nail of her index finger to herd her mother into his palm, tumbling her bodily
the last two inches.
Manfred had watched the proceedings without expression until Lisa passed his
wife to Teddy. Now his eyes narrowed to slits. He had no illusions as to his
chances of survival, but now that it was too late to help, he was able to ignore
the excruciating pain in his bleeding rectum to think clearly. Once, he had
thought himself more ruthless than his daughter. Now he knew he had been
mistaken. "Teddy, you imbecile," he muttered. "She's using you."
Even had Manfred screamed it at the top of his lungs, and even had Teddy heard
him, it's doubtful that it would have had any kind of effect. The tiny woman in
his hand held Teddy's full and rather limited attention.
"She's so small," said Teddy. "I can hardly feel her. Hey, it looks like she's
bleeding or something."
"She had a little accident," said Lisa. "Touch her. Go ahead."
Jacqueline made little squeaking noises of protest, cringing away, but Teddy's
fingertip pursued her relentlessly. It slammed her down onto his palm and held
her nearly immobile while its rough, leathery pad stroked her whole body,
mashing her breasts down painfully against her.
"Awesome," said Teddy. "She's so soft, like velvet or rabbit fur or something.
Uh, like, are we going to get in trouble or something, Lisa? I mean, your mom,
she doesn't look too happy about this."
"I don't think it's going to matter," said Lisa. "You ever done a three-way,
Teddy?"
Teddy shook his head.
Lisa, using her free hand, reached over and began unbuckling Teddy's pants. "How
would you like to do me and Jacqueline at the same time?"
Teddy grinned. "Oh yeah, that's like, so fucking twisted. I love it. You're such
a perv! But, uh, isn't your mom kinda, you know, small?"
"Mmmm," said Lisa, tugging open Teddy's pants. He wore no underwear and his
immense member sprang instantly forward. "You're not."
Wriggling his buttocks, Teddy squirmed out of his jeans until they were huddled
down around his boots. His penis, easily eight inches long, wobbled back and
forth comically, in time with his struggles. It was, in fact, the uncommonly
large bulge in Teddy's tight pants which had originally tempted Lisa to check it
out more closely. His unit had turned out to be everything the packaging had
suggested -- and more.
Lisa looked dowm at Manfred, thoughtful. "Let's keep you out of mischief for a
while," she said, and lifted her hand to her lips. They opened wide in a huge
red arch leading to the wet, toothy cave beyond.
"Gott in Himmel," said Manfred, staggering away from those lips in panic. Lisa's
hand tipped sharply upward and his feet lost their purchase, sending him falling
backwards, arms flailing. The back of his legs struck Lisa's lower lip, then his
buttocks struck her lower incisors, causing him to flip completely inside her
mouth, onto the hot, slimy surface of her tongue. Her lips closed, and she
pressed him to the roof her mouth, trapping him immobile and terrified in the
steamy blackness.
With both hands now free, Lisa began doing a slow, sensual strip-tease before
Teddy, with a look of terrible sexual hunger on her face. When she began pulling
her black lace panties down a few inches at a time to reveal a bare, shaved mons,
her expression became indistinguishable from raging fury. Teddy realized,
vaguely, than Lisa was not looking so much as him as she stripped, but at the
tiny woman in his hand. It made his animal instincts ring with alarms, but he
didn't understand why. Lisa was already very wet, her labia puffy and gaping.
Wordlessly -- her mouth being otherwise occupied -- Lisa held out her hand.
Teddy frowned quizzically until she pointed at Jacqueline. He glanced down at
his hand, and realized the inch-tall socialite was making frantic motions and
unintelligable chirping noises at him.
"No! Teddy! No!" screamed Jacqueline, making supplicating gestures at Teddy.
"Please Teddy! No! Don't let her take me! I'll give you anything you want,
anything! Oh God, Teddy, she's insane, don't let her hurt me!"
Teddy shrugged and dropped Jacqueline into her daughter's hand.
Lisa smiled a terrible, sinister smile as she seized her mother between her
fingers and sank to her knees.over Teddy. With her free hand, Lisa wrapped her
fingers around Teddy's member and began pumping up and down until it came fully
erect. A single drop of fluid oozed from the top of his penis and glistened
wetly. Still smiling, Lisa set Jackeline down on the very tip of Teddy's member,
so that she rode it like a horse. The tiny triangular patch of hair at
Jacqueline's groin, already damp with blood, became soaked with what seemed to
her to be gallons of watery semen. She began to cry.
"Holy shit," said Teddy, who stared open-eyed down the length of his body from
where he lay, propped up on his elbows. "I can feel her," he breathed.
Gently, Lisa rubbed Jacqueline back and forth over the spongy tip of Teddy's
penis, and against the sensitive underside, which made Teddy gasp. The most
violent beatings Jacqueline could inflict with her heels and fists not only did
not hurt, but added to the pleasurable sensation.
Still smiling, Lisa bent Jacqueline backward, so that she lay almost
spread-eagled, with her buttocks mired in the now steady leak of semen from the
hole at the top of Teddy's penis. Then, holding Jacqueline in place, she rose up
on her knees so that her hot, dripping cleft hovered only an inch over
Jacqueline's heaving breasts.
"Jesus," said Teddy, suddenly alarmed. "You're not gonna --"
Lisa sank down, deftly removing her fingers as her labia spread to envelop both
the knob of Teddy's penis and the screaming woman lying prone atop it.
Jacqueline shrieked for all she was worth as she saw the black, wet chasm
bearing down on top of her, but was muffled as the velvety flesh of her
daughter's labia passed on either side of her, pressing her into the slick, soft
flesh inside her vagina, pinned in place by the massive organ underneath her.
Lisa continued to drop down, enveloping inch after inch of the huge member. She
knew from experience that she could take the whole thing only by applying her
full weight and stretching until it hurt. Two inches from the bottom, she felt
slight pressure against her cervix and a powerful tickling sensation. With a
rumbling giggle, she rose up an inch, and then dropped back down with a little
bit more weight. A second later she repeated this. Anything Teddy might have
said was silenced as he lay with his head back, panting and groaning with the
need for release.
Jacqueline felt herself slammed forcefully into the slightly yielding surface of
Lisa's cervix, driving out what little breath she had left. The pressure eased,
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Giantess Stories: A Less Than Fantastic Voyage
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