Chapter 15: The Good Doctor

Mickey, who daily astounded me with the new and original ways she decorated her boobs, disappointed me whenever she failed to show them off. But then, this day, she had something important to discuss – I had to command her to shed her oversized shirt.

"You know, I've been trying to find a place for Mom to have her boobs done," she said. "Hers used to look like mine, you know."

"Right..." I said absently as she ground her pussy around my dick.

"Well, I think I discovered a gold mine," she said.

"Uh, where?" I wondered.

"Way down in Texas," she said excitedly. "I found an old article on the Internet ... from about a decade ago."

"I'm listening. I'm fucking you, but I'm paying attention," I said, thrusting my hips for proper emphasis.

"Did you ever hear of Dr. Conrad? The boob surgeon who invented the 'silly string' procedure?" she asked. "Jenny had, but I didn't want to assume anything."

"Silly what? No, I can't say I have any clue what that is," I admitted.

"Let's come first, and then I'll show you," Mickey replied. I nodded, then inhaled one of her soft, succulent, all-natural boobs. We worked it for about 10-12 minutes and, as usual, we came together Right On Time.

"Thank you very much," I gasped.

"What are friends for?" she laughed in her deep, rumbling laugh. She climbed off my dick, spent a minute or two licking it clean, then sat alongside to scoop up my cum overflow. She was in the process of licking her fingers clean as she continued.

"This article was about how this Texas plastic surgeon created the super-sized boobs of porn starts like Stacee Smokestacks, Belinda Blimps, Bad Sneekas..."

"Wait. Who was that last one?" I interrupted. "Bad who?"

"I know. Isn't that great?" she laughed. "You'd think she'd give a little more thought to her porn name. I know I have," Mickey said.

"You have?" I asked, surprised.

"Yep. Michaela Sierras," she declared.

"Not bad," I admitted.

"I'd need a good name. Their boobs put mine to shame," she said soberly.

"False. Total bullshit," I said. "Yours are beyond magnificent. God has seldom done anything more beautiful."

"But these doctors are playing God," she said. "Especially Conrad. They're so big -- I mean really, really big -- and they don't sag and they're soft and they keep growing..."

"Hold it," I interrupted again. "They keep growing? How the hell is that done?"

We held that thought as Joanne (okay, my mom) came in to clean us up. Mickey and I relaxed and let her do her brilliant tongue work; having just come, she worked my cock for 20 solid minutes before I was able to fulfill her morning requirements. She and Mickey shared a cum-filled kiss before we resumed out talk.

I zipped up and Mickey threw on one of my older stoner tees.

"You'd have to read all the stuff to understand, but it makes sense," she insisted, straddling my desk chair as she leaned on the back. "Instead of bags of jelly, or saline, this Conrad injected boobs with this string, kind of like fishing line, and this stuff irritates the tissue, and that triggers the body's own fluids on a continuous basis. So the boobs are always gonna grow. They're softer and jigglier than implants could ever be."

"And how big do they get?" I asked, intrigued now.

"HUGE. Off the chart," Mickey said. "And my mom wants some -- and maybe I do, too."

"Wow," I managed, truly shocked by Mickey's last admission. "But didn't you say this was, like, a decade ago?"

"But he still does conventional stuff," Mickey said. :""I'm proposing that he get your last vial of the stuff. He and his staff."

"Last vial?" I bluffed. "What last vial?"

"Phhht. Please," my slave said. "You think you could hide that from your mom? It's a good thing for you she was commanded not to use it. She wanted to."

"But it's still..."

"Still safe and sound in your sock drawer," she laughed her great, deep laugh. Well, that hiding place was shot to shit, but I would wait until she left to relocate my precious stash.

"It's not a bad idea," I agreed. "But we need to get some of our own staff involved, too."

"Well, you could make his staff yours, you know," Mickey correctly replied.

So I got onto the Internet myself. Conrad was, it turned out, world-renowned as a boob builder. Three-month waiting list, ridiculous prices, lots of satisfied customers – and that was just his conventional practice. Jenny -- who was asking to be called "Jennifer" more and more despite just celebrating her 13th birthday – had done some research for Mickey and found an amazing gallery of his work.

These days, Conrad specialized in scar-free surgery -- he would go in through the armpit or the navel -- fill the implants by pump and deliver maximum sized implants without a trace. He also was a miracle man with the way he rebuilt breasts for cancer victims. But once upon a time, he made the so-called "silly string" boobs that wore embraced by super-size porn stars. But the delivery system failed in too many cases, leakage was too common compared to any other way. Fearing lawsuits, Conrad shelved the concept, and the world was a sadder place.

"Not so many women want so much size," Jennifer said, quoting his written explanation. "He wrote, 'the ecstasy of extra size was not worth the agony of failure. Or the cost.'"

We'd have to change all that, but that meant that Conrad would have to be willing to improve the delivery system. He could do that, but we'd have to make him willing to spend the money. But even more, I wanted him to provide his services locally for my Sunny Tropic slaves. So many of them had boob jobs already, good and bad, but I embraced the idea of them going super-size. But it turned out that there were women in that group who had the skills to literally learn and apply the procedure themselves.

Two of the "Sunnies" (as I'd gotten to calling them) turned out were RNs. Another was in medical school. One was close to getting her license to perform anesthesia. One was already working as an EMT. All, not surprisingly. were gorgeous; all were my slaves because they hoped that the fateful contest would help pay their way. It was about to pay another way.

The trained nurses were named Meloney Tracy and Corinne Massey, both tanned and blonde with professionally short hair. Meloney, who was the more experienced of the two, worked in the local Urgent Care center and would be my first contact.

Jennifer and I reached out to her, knowing there would be no refusals. But I did not really know her and and certainly never asserted my control over her – except for focusing her dedication to her craft while twisting her sexuality towards her own.

She was on the night shift of the city's smaller, private (OK, Catholic) hospital, but their patients lacked for nothing. In fact, Meloney was a specialist in TLC that was, shall we say, not in the care manuals. More than a couple of their admitted patients experienced vivid dreams of receiving oral sex, but only a few related their experience to Meloney, who would just laugh and allow that it was a common occurrence (especially in her ward, she didn't add).

I identified myself as a family member at the desk, but with the 15-year-old Jennifer in tow, I decided to have some fun. I had her scrub away her makeup and put her brown hair up in the cutest ponytail she could imagine. She looked even younger than her years when Meloney entered the treatment room.

She stopped in her tracks. She came upon a young girl with her right leg twisted grotesquely around her head and what was obviously a dislocated elbow. I was out of her line of sight at first.

"Can you help me?" Jenny whined in her best helpless damsel in distress voice.

"Oh my God!" Meloney gasped, her professionalism momentarily forgotten. "What happened to you, sweetheart?"

"I was bored at home, and I tried to lick my own pussy," she explained as her useless arm dangled behind her head along with her left leg. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"Me either," Meloney said, kneeling down beside her. "Are you in much pain? Can you move your fingers?"

"Yeah. A little," she said as she wiggled the fingers on her "injured" arm while she slipped her "good" hand between the nurse's legs. "See?"

"Oh! Yes, I do," Meloney smiled, programmed to accept any such overture. "Nothing wrong with that hand."

"I would appreciate it," Jennifer said softly, "if you would return the favor."

Meloney reached under the young girl's skirt, finding her pussy clean-shaven and sopping wet. She stared at Jennifer, still unsure what exactly was happening.

"And I have some toes that would love to be sucked on," Jennifer added, wiggling the foot behind her head enough for her sandal to be flipped to the floor. Meloney rose, keeping her right hand fingers in Jennifer's twat, and began sucking her entire foot, not just her toes with sloppy enthusiasm.

And despite a full mouth, she managed to smile at her master as I came into view. Suddenly, she understood, but only moaned softly when I reached around her chest with both hands. Her double-D rack was generally not on public display, contained by a bib and her starched uniform, but she did not object when I forcibly pulled her blouse open, ripping off a couple of buttons along the way.

Jennifer, a contortionist of the finest order, was able to lean forward enough to plant a forceful kiss on Meloney's throat and the nurse embraced her with her free hand. Jennifer, meanwhile, unzipped her new friend's uniform pants and expertly slid her fingers beneath her very unprofessional thong and into her well-lubricated pussy. Both vigorously worked the other until both women came, gasping but otherwise silent.

Jennifer's contorted arm and leg remained behind her head even as Meloney moved her mouth from toes to lips and hugged her passionately. But the expert gymnast that she was, Jennifer was able to stand on her free leg and return the kiss.

"How old are you?" Meloney finally gasped.

"Would it bother you if I told you I were only 13?" Jennifer asked innocently. Meloney's eyes reflected horror for a moment, but for only a moment.

"Really? Fuck it," she said as she moved her mouth down to the girls pristine pussy.

"She's lying. She's 15-and-a-half," I said, pulling away her frontloader bra. Meloney looked disappointed for a moment, but just a moment, as she found Jennifer's taste to her liking.

But between slurps, she looked up at me with some concern apparent.

"Master, this is a blast, but you're going to get me fired," she said, pleading with her eyes as best as her programming allowed.

"You're not going to need this job," I said, ripping the fabric of her tunic. "I have something much better in mind for you."

She looked confused for a moment, but just a moment. Then a wicked grin crossed her tanned face and she turned to attack Jennifer's waiting pussy with a new sense of purpose.

"She go-o-o-o-d," Jennifer said moments before she threw her head back and let out a scream that pretty much got us tossed out of the building.

Meloney had changed into her street clothes (minus her bra, which was lost in the shuffle) by the time we reached Corinne's place of employment – an elderly care center. It was not a hospice, even though an ambulance pulled away as we arrived. Maybe two dozen senior citizens were milling around the front entrance as we arrived.

"What's happening?" I asked a tiny, stooped-over lady as she leaned on her cane.

"That was Stanley. Stanley Martin," she added at my lack of recognition. "Seems like another one died with a smile on his face." She shook her head in evident disgust as she turned away to go inside.

I located a nurses' station in the main lobby and headed that way with Meloney, while Jennifer saw someone she recognized and excitedly embraced another somewhat frail looking lady in a happy embrace.

"Corinne Massey?" I asked the heavy-lidded African-American woman minding the desk.

"You cops?" she asked suspiciously.

"Cops? No way," I said, taken aback. I looked at Meloney, and she merely shrugged. I turned back to the attending nurse. "Why would cops be looking for Corinne?"

"Didn't say they were," said the woman, who wore a name tag that identified her as Yolanda. "And you are... ?"

"Friends," Meloney said quickly, before I could cook up a story. "She and I met in a contest a few months ago."

Yolanda looked us over as if considering the truthfulness of Meloney's accurate account. Finally, she nodded.

"She in 245, one of our vacant rooms," she said. "Girl could use a friend about now."

Yolanda added no details, but nodded towards a hallway just as Jennifer breathlessly came alongside.

"That was my Grams," Jennifer said happily. "She said some old guy died of a heart attack while he was, um, engaged. She said he's not the first one, either."

I glanced over at Yolanda, whose eyelids grew more heavy somehow.

"It happens around here," she said. "You come to talk to Corinne or to gossip?"

"Sorry. Thank you," I sputtered, but walked down the hall with the two women chattering behind me. Something about Jennifer's Grams living here to avoid her former husband. I found the room and tapped on the door, but did not wait for an answer.

I found Corinne folded up in a corner chair, her makeup a mess due to some obvious crying. She recognized me immediately, but it occurred to me that she was one of the Sunny Tropic women I did not have a chance to interact with that weekend.

My loss. But it did not matter; the programming was absolute, it seemed.

"Michael? I mean, Master?" she said, springing out of the chair and smearing her running eye shadow with the Kleenex in her hand. "Are you here to punish me?"

"Punish? No!" I said as she embraced me so firmly as to knock the breath out of me. "I ... have a job for you."

"Oh thank God!" the lithe, tanned blonde exhaled. "You've got to get me out of here, Master."

"I will ... but why the urgency? You know you are compelled to tell me the truth," I said.

"Yes, I know," she let go of me and looked down at my shoes. "Poor Mr. Martin. I was ... sort of responsible for that."

"What! You killed him?" Jennifer blurted.

"No! No. Well, not exactly," Corinne said, tears again starting to flow. "I was ... giving him..."

"Head?" I asked, a little stunned.

"Release," she replied, looking up at me. "I have been following your commands, helping these wonderful people find sexual release."

"By going down on them," I said, not a question.

"Uh, huh," she nodded, biting her lip in a terribly cute manner. "Most of the folks have really been enjoying it. I think think they were shocked they could still have orgasms."

Jennifer shuddered next to me, but said nothing. But I knew what she was thinking: Not Grams, please not Grams.

"I was able to supply them with Viagra and flibanserin..." she began.

"Flib what?" I asked, but Meloney was nodding.

"Flibanserin, a new drug that has proven to improve the libido of women," she explained offhandedly. "But most of them were reluctant to interact with the residents until I was able to convince them..."

"Show them, you mean," I interrupted again.

" ... show them that they could still function," she continued. "Mr. Pascual had a bad heart, but we didn't know it at the time. He didn't make it past the first session. Mrs. Tipton fell and hit her head during an ... enthusiastic orgasm. And now Mr. Martin."

"It's okay, Corinne. You were just doing what I programmed you do, and you did it very well," I said convincingly (I hoped), keeping my revulsion internalized. "It is time to get you out of here and working for me directly."

"For you, master? Really?" she was beaming, but looked to get a nod of confirmation from Meloney. "Thank God! You have no idea how strange it is, washing up and servicing old people."

I do now, I thought.

At that moment, Corinne gasped.

"You must be Mrs. Shipley's granddaughter! I've seen your cheerleading photo on her dresser," she exclaimed to Jennifer. "You know, she's a wildcat when she comes!"

"I am so grossed out," Jennifer said, but Meloney betrayed her bluff moments later when she reached between her legs.

"I guess that's why you're soaking wet, huh?" she said.

Jennifer blushed and grinned a crooked grin that said, busted.

"Corinne, go get your street clothes and clean off your face," I said. "We need to get the hell out of here."

In a matter of moments, we hustled out past the nurses' station, where Yolanda was still holding court. She got my attention by point over her shoulder with her thumb.

"Cops are here," she said. "Sent 'em down the wrong hall."

"Thanks," I said.

"Not for you. For Corinne," she said. "Sister has a magic tongue."

The EMT was a body builder named Denise Cross, a deeply tanned amazonian whose impressive fake tits looked good on her bulked-up body. She was just short of looking masculine, but she was fully capable of shredding tight clothes with a certain amount of flexing.

I like that she was not ripped like a freak, nor was she tanned to a near shade of purple like some of the bodybuilders who competed.

She was a partner in a women only gym – a luxurious building that included more than half of the Sunny Tropic contestants as regulars. No windows to the outside world were allowed, so many of the girls in my thrall worked out topless, the better to see their hard work paying off.

Denise likewise worked out without a sports bra of any kind, but did don a usually skin-tight top that showed off her dime-sized nipples to good effect. She could usually be found at the gym when she wasn't doing a shift on the emergency bus. But enough of the women who worked out were not part of our little group, so I had to come through the service entrance.

I patiently waited for Denise to finish her workout. (Translation: I vigorously fucked one of the more stunning Sunny Tropic girls who had yet to be officially welcomed. Her name was Georgia, and she was indeed a transplanted Southerner. She was likewise rocked a set of major fake boobs, which allowed me to further my education while I was schooling her pussy.

"What'd you upgrade to?" I asked as she rhythmically rode me.

"Pitiful B to major D," she gasped as her girls moved around surprisingly well for fakes.

"Wouldn't have guess they were phony if I hadn't felt them," I said, squeezing them for emphasis.

"Some get them fixed for show – like Denise. Mine are build for comfort," she grinned.

"Both kinds get appreciated," came a voice behind me.

"Hey, Dee," Georgia said without breaking her pace. "I finally got to meet the master's meat."

"Don't mind me. Got to shower," Denise said. I heard a door open to what must have been a private bathroom. I did not see because the EMT dropped her work shirt over my head. So I came inside the Southern belle in the dark, Georgia laughing at the ludicrous sight of my futile attempts to shake off Denise's shirt as I climaxed.

The amazon created quite a silhouette as she showered off a day of the city streets. She was almost to my chin, while Georgia only came up to her chin. But the three of us fit rather nicely in her shower as we washed our activities away together.

Georgia was sent on her way, but Denise and I were still gloriously naked as we talked about the plan. Denise's eyes lit up at Conrad's story, but her response was no surprise at all.

"I'm going to enjoy this," she said. "Of course, you know I'm going to HAVE to be one of his first clients."

"Of course," I said. "Why be merely intimidating when you can cause heart attacks?"

Our future doctor was a find -- Louise (Lou) Janikowski -- a dark-haired, green-eyed porn star who somehow missed her calling. She was showing off her six-pack doing crunches in the gym when I stepped onto the floor after my shower.

"I'm thinking about making sexual dysfunction my specialty," she took me while shaking my hand (then kissing me lightly).

"Why?" I asked cleverly.

"It's all your fault, you know," she said, eyes gleaming. "Your commands to me at the contest. I was 100 percent straight and you made me 100 percent lesbian. How fucked up is that?"

"I guess screwing me is out of the question," I said.

It wasn't. Later, after reducing her 100 percentile grade, I asked her about medical school -- knowing she was heartbreaking to both sexes.

"Really, I'm having the time of my life," she said, showing a smile to die for. "I don't want to know how or why, but I was able to attack my lessons with so much more clarity and commitment than I showed when I was a party girl playing at medical school. I am going to be a good plastic surgeon for you, and for my patients."

I believed her. Our problem, as usual, was deciding on the best approach. Conrad wasn't shy about publicity, but he was getting all of that he needed. We opted to fake a story where his perfectly safe techniques were being challenged from someone who disliked his old ways. He would not hesitate to defend himself.

We would meet at his office. Mary Ann would pass herself off as the skeptical writer -- believable, for no other reason than her own small boobs. I would be her photographer, while Denise would be a perfect de facto caterer who would plant the compound.

I gathered my team and we had a run-through to confirm it was a workable plan. But first, I had to get Corinne (who was wanted "only" for questioning at this time) out of the country; circumstances made it a foregone conclusion that she would be our point man in the Cayman Islands, where Conrad's practice would ultimately relocate. She would find the perfect property that I could own outright, while my Dad (with Marie, now his daily sex drug, alongside) would set up our finances as well as target those we might have to bring over to our side.

Back home, the others prepared to pull off a plan far beyond our capabilities. But their programming had them serious and committed while I still had sex on the brain.

I asked them to dress professionally. Even glasses could not deflect Lou Janikowski's beauty, so she would be on the sidelines until after we enslaved Conrad and his staff – besides, Candice was getting a little lonely with all my running around.

Meloney Tracy had enormous boobs, but played them down. Corinne Massey was a lifelong fitness freak, so she had abs, legs and an ass that'd generate wet dreams. But even her abs were overmatched by Denise's washboard. She'd worked at a strip club where boobs, tan and flexibility made you rich. But her heart was in saving lives, so she'd sacrificed the money for the comfort of the gym until we took control of her schedule.

One future anesthesiologist, however, almost stopped me dead in my tracks.

Tanned and impressive, I'd forgotten that Colleen Blake -- a flaming redhead to boot -- stood 6-2 in normal shoes and happily wore heels during her free time that allowed her to stand 6-foot-5.

I didn't notice at first because I was busy being totally into (and inside of) Denise. To feel firm where you normally feel soft, plus to nibble on her distended nipples, Denise was a fucker's playground. I was able to grip firmly without squeezing anything painful, and her cunt muscles had clearly been developed as well. Her light blue eyes completed a package I would gladly open on Christmas morning.

Of course, no one reacted to our being naked, so I took care of Denise's business first, unloading a torrent of cum that she was able to completely retain. Denise likewise did not bother getting dressed as we met the team.

"Lou, it's good to start this relationship," I said to the smiling medical student as she cuddled with my girlfriend, Lou naked except for her very proper-looking reading glasses. "The first thing is you need to do is lick me clean."

With smiling eyes, she raised her glasses to her hairline and took me down whole. For good measure, she made it plenty noisy and sloppy. But she was more than a little surprised when I went totally erect when I saw Colleen -- sweater, jeans, boots and all -- enter the room.

"Hmph," Lou complained with a mouthful of my growing cock. But like a pro, she adjusted and took my full length down, and I started griding my hips into her lovely face. Once she locked her green eyes on me, it did not take long to cum, but I pulled away and shot my load into her face and hair.

"Do not clean it off your face until I command. You will behave as a total professional otherwise," I said. "Address the group this way."

Lou got up, adjusted her clothes, and did not touch a drop of my smeared, dripping load even as it dangled from her hair, eyeglasses, eyebrows and chin.

"Hi folks. My name is Louise, but I prefer being called Lou," she began. A streamer of cum dangled from her chin. "I want to thank Master for cumming on my face and giving me a chance to be in this super group. All of you women are hot and I look forward to eating each and every one of you."

The girls clapped politely, but all eyes were on that tendril of cum as it stretched downward towards the floor. Finally, Mary Ann reached out and caught it with her abnormally large tongue.

"But this is more than an orgy," Lou continued as if nothing were happening. "We are here to take over the most successful plastic surgery practice in Texas and make it our own. We will bring them into our family and make them ours. Mary Ann and the very hot and naked Denise will be handling our plans. Um, do we have a plan?"

"I plan on licking your face clean as soon as Master allows," Mary Ann said. I smiled and nodded my consent. She eased Lou into a handy beanbag chair (which happened to already be occupied by Candice) and began the noisy cleanup.

"Only if you collect it into a big white snowball and pass it along to Colleen in a big, sloppy kiss," I added, and she nodded her compliance.

"Yummy," Colleen said with a lick of her lips. Mary Ann, acting very much like a cat cleaning her kitten, slowly but totally cleaned my load off Lou's face as Candice silently caressed her firm, natural boobs. The future surgeon sat unmoving, eyes closed but smiling as she reveled in the attention. Soon, Mary Ann again had her fit for the public.

I finished getting dressed and considered the plan we didn't have.

"Let's send them a snack tray, cheese or something, and a gallon of punch and make them think one of their own folks had it delivered. A little reception for our visiting writer -- and a toast!" I finally proposed after maybe 15-20 seconds of deep thinking.

"A toast. Perfect," Lou said from between Candice's legs as the get-acquainted session continued.

"I like that. A lot," Mary Ann said. "I'll prepare the punch and make it look like a catering jug."

"I know the city. I can arrange to get a world-class cheese tray to deliver," Colleen said. "I have family there. My sister's wearing two of Dr. Conrad's finest."

I should have known Colleen was a cowgirl.

"That solves that, I think," I said. "Now, I want to watch you slowly undress and fuck like animals, with Lou being superior to her attendants. Attachments are permitted."

Meloney walked up to Lou, helped her to her feet and said, "I will enjoy being your nurse." At the same time, the future doctor slowly unbuttoned the front of Meloney's tasteful blouse. Meloney added, "I will enjoy doing anything you require."

Lou undid the front of Meloney's blouse and pulled down her dress. Once she pulled the blouse off of her shoulders, the size and shape of Meloney's enormous boulders was revealed -- an E-cup, at least. As Lou gazed into her eyes, Meloney undid her (replacement) bra and let it slide slowly down her arms. Lou did not move until Meloney was finished, then slowly reached around Meloney's ass and grasped both of her butt cheeks, lightly at first, but then she began to squeeze and pull Meloney closer. Lou knelt down and stuck out a nice, wide tongue to engulf her future nurse's smooth pussy, following it with an open mouth. Using her feline eyes to transfix Meloney, she ran her tongue deeply into her pussy as her middle fingers each made their way into her asshole. Planted to the knuckle, she wiggled her fingers and pulled them to stretch Meloney's anus. She gasped in surprise and pain.

"Trust me," Lou said, pulling away from her pussy. "I'm a doctor."

"Close enough," Meloney moaned, pulling Lou's head to her groin. Soon, her breathing picked up and she seemed to be gasping for breath. Lou did not break off her tongue lashing and Meloney soon screamed out what was obviously a satisfying orgasm.

Meloney collapsed into a chair, legs akimbo. Lou lowered her glasses, sat up and winked at me.

"I can't wait to learn, anyway," she said with a huge grin.

Colleen and Denise likewise were in the process of intimately learning one another's sexual secrets in preparation for their own encounters with Lou. Denise's perfect body was all but dwarfed by the long, long arms and legs of her mate as they took over my favorite couch. Denise was desperately groping for a handhold when she reached down into the cushions and discovered a long-forgotten nickel bag left by one of my stoner friends.