He doesn't care where they come from or who they were. They drop off a male torso, and the customer's rules of order with half of the agreed sum in ash gray bars. Then the doctor gets to work, no gens, no questions.

The doctor was excited ; it had been a while since he had a surgery this challenging. Despite the small way the doctor had to work with, the equipment in the room was easily worth more than the integral apartment complex the stopgap operation room was held in.

The doctor looked for non-existing seams on the final piece of the hokey skin on her os frontale. This was one of the more unequalled type of skins used, a eccentric of organic human body colored Si, giving the tone and feel of a chick. This type of skin supported twice the amount of brass endings of normal human skin. Under the peel, there were surplus sebaceous secreter to release oil onto the tegument when pheromones are picked up to provide an oiled latex face for special sex appealingness. All of the patient's peel had been painstakingly replaced section by division, as removing all of it at once would demonstrate to be fatal.

Her closed eyes twinkled like the night sky, the Doctor's hands brushed against her painted eyelids, the night, cosmic silver undisturbed from his touch modality. He had blended the powder of respective alloy and alloys into the fragile skin of the lid until the color was just right. His fingers stroked her black, feathery eyelashes, naturally full moon and curved as if mascara had just been applied. The doctor gently forced an eye open, revealing a shimmering, emerald amobarbital sodium iris. He allowed himself to admire his workplace before inspecting the jet black descent tattooed around the edges of her eye. His digit followed the Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe of the feminine look to her delicious red lips. The doctor's blue latex glove met with her condom sass, always plump, always glossy, its vermilion hue unyielding. Everything was permanent, good.

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The Doctor of the Church moved to the bosom to canvass their advance. He massaged the DD sized breast, working his way from the business firm elastic breast to the pink nipple he spent years crafting. He touched the growing tit gently, admiring just how a great deal was going on underneath the hypersensitive clump of hokey flesh. The MD's call of duty was sensitive boob, but he liked to push himself further. He especially liked the club where there were no upper demarcation for him ; he could truly express his creativity applying a mix of science and art. This was one of those orders. He pinched the grippy nipples as the remainder of his fingerbreadth felt the modified milk secreter inside her breasts. The doctor was pleased that the mamilla was solid and addictive to take on with, but he still was still not satisfied. The switch of all the Milk glands with Skene's allowed her to cum through her breasts. The doctor felt a slight throbbing in between his fingers, and knew that he had succeeded. The nipple ejected cum, soiling the doctor's blueness surgical glove. The doctor had a victorious smile knowing that the weeks of messy nervus rewiring had paid off.

Though she had lost the ability to nurse, her breast had the potential drop to create more cum than a normal vagina on an intermediate woman. Her breasts were wired to produce cum indefinitely in the replaced Milk secretor, sign imitating the ones sent after childbirth. The cum would likely tumesce her breasts to an E cup before spilling from her nipples. From the doctor's calculations, she would have to make her breasts cum every day or so to preclude an overflow. The doctor cleaned the spillage around her chest, and to his pleasant surprise had to clean house the second untouched nipple as well. The doctor scribbled with inflammation in his notes before continuing his examination.

The Doctor of the Church was renowned in the art of crafting vaginas that would cause the most dysfunctional man to cum prematurely. But what the doctor was about to prepare even impressed himself, despite all of the breathtaking pieces he had created before. rumour has it that one of his pieces has been known to cause dimout and possible cardiac arrest should the exploiter have a faint heart. The charwoman disappeared shortly afterwards, though there had been an increasing amounts of powerful figures succumbing to eye tone-beginning. The skin for the vagina was the sum of his experimentation with hypersensitive skin, optimized through days of extermination on hundreds of specimens. The Doctor of the Church had found the optimal zone in between pain and pleasure.

Everything in her new sex had been expertly crafted by the Doctor of the Church, save the ovaries ; she would only go pregnant only if her master desired it. She would have periods, and could even produce a child inside her womb should a fertilized egg be inserted within her. Her vagina looks perfectly rule on the remote, but the inside was the medico's Sistine chapel. He was very gifted in his art, but after so many years of innovation, he was left with little elbow room to improve. This order had him flustered as he could easily implement one of the many intention which has made him famous, but they were old and moth-eaten to him. He was going to go through a lot of the perfected Graeco-Roman figure, but he needed something new to attain this one unique. It was rare that he was allowed to freely create, and he did not like to knock off this opportunity by photocopying his previous pieces.

The MD wondered if he was if he was losing his originative spark, or if he was just getting old - or maybe both. He was heroic, but he couldn't do anything but feel helpless flipping through late dark TV show on his couch. That was until the shark calendar week particular gave him the breathing in he needed. He would make multiple g-spots in the shape of a shark's gills out of gristle, ten sum, five on each position of the vaginal wall. The doctor beamed while he attacked his notepad. They were to extend outwards when blood fills the vagina, pointing downwards towards the opening night. They were to take extreme delight to the user, and possibly stimulate a meltdown in thinker of the vagina's owner.

The Doctor of the Church brought himself back to the task at hand, his finger's breadth spread her moist labia. The doctor breached her limited virginal membrane, made to turn back within twelve hours. He swirled his fingers around the arena just before the array of g-spots, the genius activity admonisher rapidly scaled out to adapt the huge capitulum it had to exhibit. The Doctor of the Church became excited as he continued to his masterpiece, he could feel the gill ( named for G-spot lamella ) erect. The doc continued to drive, until the gill inversed, point into her womb, causing her unconscious organic structure to instantly come to an orgasm. He continued his finger through the remaining four Seth of branchia, the new mental capacity activity stratum made the previous look like a flat line. If the doctor didn't practice the anesthetic himself, he would not induce believed that this girl was under from the way she was convulsing from the intense orgasm. The doctor removed his digit swiftly, causing all of the branchia to revert to their original posture, the sudden removal of his digits stimulated all the Gills, causing another outbreak of fluids. Her body stayed in a strained arch for several moment twitching, before slowly lowering back onto the steel table.

The niggardliness and the way the gills held onto his finger turned the medico on, he could only imagine how a phallus would just melt inside his masterpiece. The doctor was tempted to give it a run run, to satisfy his raging humanness, but this was the hardest part of his job. Even though he knew the hymen would grow back, and there was no grounds, he had to stay on a pro. He had always thought of making one for himself, but he realized that he would continuously dispose them when he came up with new techniques for his art. The medico sighed at his plight, and went on to try out her clitoris. The sixteen thousand nerve endings in her clitoris were expertly coiled and weaved amplifying sentiency to inconceivable levels. The doctor pressed on her clitoris like an elevator button, turning her aftershocks into another full blown orgasm. The doctor was pleased.

Regretfully, the medico's testing was coming to an end. He began the preparations for her retrieval. The doctor inserted a lustrous black rubber-base paint catheter, into the newly formed urine duct. He knew that she will be kept under until she was completely healed. The latex paint metro hung out of her vagina like a slim tail. The Doctor picked up the electron tube inflated the balloon inside her vesica with a special putz, securing the catheter until he decides to release it. The Doctor of the Church pulled the red rubber-base paint wall socket quid from the end of the metro, and attached the catheter to a tube leading to a pee bag.

The doctor unpacked the impudent pink intimate apparel ; the seductive speech sound of sliding the thin scanty up her soft legs aroused the doctor beyond the limit of a normal man. The catheter came out from the slope of the pinko pantie. Next, he took the bra, wrapping it around her unconscious body, tucking weighty breasts into its cups was always a pleasure for the MD. He took her manus, with a ash grey manicure, placing them over her pierced navel- a insidious tracking device, anchored to her womb ; removal would prove quite painful. Finally, he slipped her dainty invertebrate foot into a pair of platform heels. Perfect.

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The doctor turned off the lights, but did not impart the room. He admired the scheme of her cheek that he crafted for her. The curves, prospicient slender leg, her ample bout, his prefect gifts to her. The doctor had not felt a link like this to his instauration for a foresightful time now. He went up to her and kissed her on the brass in the dark. He made sure the full soundbox mirror positioned correctly following to the bed, he wanted his affected role to look up to his oeuvre when she awoke.

"eternal sleep tight, my daughter. ”