Chapter 12

It was a week after the unfortunate episode where I had been forced to sign a consent form that gave a surgeon permission to perform a procedure upon me the I didn't really want to go through with but now it was too late as I sat in a small private jet heading towards a landing at a secluded airfield in Florida. Once again I'd been locked in that damned chastity belt and again I had a pair of minders in tow. For this trip one of the men was Kevin, and I was pleased about this as I'd always liked him ever since we'd talked the morning after I'd been raped during my early days on the island and ever since then he'd been around, always smiling and being supportive when he could. On this trip I had been provided with a fake passport that, I was assured, would get me into and back out of the United States with absolutely no trouble. Well, that was the theory and, after a quick and simple passage through immigration (which turned out to be one bored and overweight woman behind a rickety desk) I was inside the good old USA.

A driver from the clinic was waiting patiently for us and as we were lead out to the car, I could tell that this was a well oiled and practised machine. Clearly they were used to handling wanted criminals though most, I suspected, were here for a change of face and identity rather than for the operation which I was slated for.

The clinic itself turned out to be a typically low, white painted building set in its own immaculate grounds and protected by a high security fence.

The private room that I was shown to would have been a credit to a decent hotel and came with every facility that was associated with that type of accommodation - apart from a minibar, of course! I was also both pleased and relieved to find that the clinic was clean and well cared for as well as being excellently equipped. As for the nursing staff, I couldn't fault then - friendly, well trained yet forceful when required. Once they found out that I was in the trade too, we had several long and interesting technical discussions.

But much of this was still in the future as I entered the consulting room for my first examination by the surgeon, Doctor Ramaz who, it has to be said, was typical of his breed - middle-aged, balding, spectacled, superior attitude and all. After shaking my hand, he went on to point to a large television screen placed in one of the walls on while I could plainly see the face of my employer. "Mr Foster wishes to observe both our consultations and the actual operation, Ms Smith. I take it that you have no objections to this?"

As it happened, I did but I also knew that there was no point in voicing them so instead I just asked where the camera was and if the system was web based.

After providing me with this information, the surgeon asked me to remove my blouse and bra. He then looked me over in a very disinterested and professional manner. "Barely a B cup?" he asked and I nodded in the affirmative. Next he ran his hands over my chest and, as always, the doctor's hand were cold and I flinched slightly. "Please try to hold still, Ms Smith," he tutted as he pushed and prodded at me.

"I see from your notes that you are a qualified nurse, Ms Smith, so we'll dispense with the usual general examination. You are fit and healthy, yes? Anything I should know about?"

I assured him that I was in a good state of health, told him what my blood group was before answering a few more technical questions that he posed. "I assume that you are familiar with the actual procedure and how we go about fitting the implants?"

"Yes, doctor. I knew a little before hand but recently I've been doing more digging into the subject over the internet. I see that you have been doing some research yourself and some of your papers were very interesting."

For the first time, he smiled then he glanced at the monitor on the wall, "Bright girl you have here, Mr Foster."

"I like to think so," the image of my boss answered.

"Now," Doctor Ramaz went on, "let's get down to the business of selecting your new breasts, shall we, Ms Smith? I've some photographs to help you make a choice and some samples of the actual implants so you can see the relative sizes, but let's start by asking you, in general terms, what size cup do you see yourself as when I've finished my work?"

As I'd expected that question, I had already prepared an answer. "C, I think would be nice"

Loud laugher ripped out of the loudspeaker connected to the television screen. "Carol, you're to have big tits, not ones only marginally larger ones than you currently sport. She wants F, doctor."

"F!" I exclaimed with disbelief.

"That's not possible," the doctor interjected simultaneously. "There would be too much trauma both to her body and her mind. Besides, the skin simply would not stretch far enough to accept such a large implant. Eventually she could be made that big but it would take years and many operations, each making her a little bigger. This time... I think we might be able to go to a D, but that would be the limit..."