Disclaimer: Thanks to Feline and JD, without whose help the story would not have come out as smoothly as you see it.
All websites referenced in the story are imaginary URLs based on real websites.
Chapter 5: Suburban Health Care
True to his word, Dave got me quite a few gigs from that party. I had no idea that people would pay money to see a video of a woman with a broken leg, but they will! I’ll take their money! I did a long gig being videotaped crutching around the mall for Chicks-On-Sticks.com, and did a few shots showing off my immobilized broken leg for other fetish sites as well! With my leg being held immobile for two months limiting my ability to get most work, earning money for being videotaped while shopping is a good career when you can get it.
I had no idea that a woman with her leg in a cast playing with a room full of balloons would be such a hit! I rubbed them, squeezed them, and even popped a few. I got paid pretty well for that one. Other photo shoots for foot fetish, stockings, and high heel fetishes were lined up for when the cast came off. Dave was in the business, and sure has Great American Know-Who to get things done.
Dave came to me with a job offer. He warned me the pay would be great, but I would have to earn every penny of it; it would not be an easy gig. All he knew was that Humiliated Cunts wanted me for a photo shoot. They agreed that nothing living would enter my body, including semen, instead I would be videotaped having a mammogram done. Given the name of the site, I knew the video wouldn’t be targeted toward the mainstream, encouraging the health practice, but the money was too good to pass up. They were offering over double per hour than what Dave paid for the Rain shoot, and just like Dave, would double it if I finished the shoot. If I got the full shoot, I would finally be out of debt! We agreed that any inappropriate singing or humming would put an immediate end to things. I went for it. The dress code was any dress, but panties. Given the limited dress code and mamogram, I figured it wouldn’t be on very long anyway.
That night, I crutched into Suburban Health Care for the photo shoot. Suburban Health Care closed at 7, the gig started at 8. A guy in a lab coat and doctor’s face mask held the door open for me, with a cameraman right next to him. They led me back to the mammography machine.
For those who haven’t seen one, it is pretty intimidating. It is a white machine, about 2 feet wide, 7 feet tall, and 4 feet deep. There are two arms that stick out, one with a black plate, one with a clear plate. While I haven’t had a mammogram yet, I’ve been told it’s uncomfortable as my breasts would be squeezed between the plates. Two armrests lay below them for the facade of comfort.
The technician was professional, letting me get my dress and bra off. I crutched over to the machine and stood on my good leg, set the crutches aside, and gripped the end of the armrests.
The technician pulled out some clear tape, eerily like what gagged me in the rain, and wrapped them around my arms, binding them to the armrests.
He then moved the plates to frame my left breast, one on each side. They slowly closed in, squeezing my oversized breast, flatter and flatter. I understand the “discomfort” I was told about, but those plates keep closing in. I whimpered as the plates squeezed my breast into a pancake. They finally stopped, keeping my breast as their tortured hostage. Only the nipple peeked out past the clear plates. The technician came from the controls to closely examine my breast. “hhmmm...” He pondered, poking the edge of my breast, eliciting a cry of pain.
“I think we may need a bit more elongation here.” I’m bewildered. My breast was squashed into a thin sheet, and he wanted *more*? The technician pulled out a barbell piercing, and slid it through my nipple ring. He then centered a ring with two forked prongs on it on my nipple. The prongs extended about ¾” past the nipple piercing. He grabbed the barbell, and yanked it away from my breast, pulling the nipple with it. I gasped as my nipple was stretched. The technician calmly set the barbell on the forked prong, holding the nipple out like a desperate craving for attention. I sure didn’t remember *this* being mentioned in mammography literature!
The tech called out “I think I need a second opinion. Dr. Roper! Can you come in here please?”
Another guy in a lab coat and medical mask strode into the room. He’d clearly been waiting for his cue. He immediately flicked my nipple. I screamed in surprise “OOowww!”.
He pulled out two rubber wedges. “We’ll have to silence the patient if we are to get this examination done. Open wide!” I opened my mouth, and he grabbed my chin, pulling my jaw open as far as it would go, then wedging the rubber between my molars. I tried to close my mouth, but the wedges were in the way. I couldn’t open my mouth any further, and I couldn’t push the wedges out of the way. My mouth would be agape until “Dr Roper” deems otherwise.
“OK. This one looks good.” They finally released my breast, which throbbed as blood rushes back in. My nipple was still poking out provocatively.
The terrible twosome quickly squashed my other breast into a vertical pancake before stretching the nipple with matching jewelry. I was already whimpering behind the gag as they start poking my breast, flicking the nipple jewelry, and making crude comments about how much they love it as I cry out in surprise. I tugged on the tape holding my arms down, but to no avail; I was quite their helpless captive.
After releasing my breast from their “examination”, they rotated the plates to horizontal. They placed both breasts on the same plate. I look on in grim fascination as the clear plate came down on top of them, lending me and the camera a clear view of them being squashed into flattened cartoons of themselves.
The technician looked at me. “I think you’re quite enjoying this, aren’t you?”
I considered humming my “out” tune, but then thought the better of it – I needed the money! I demurely shook my head “no”
He ignored me. “It’s OK. I know you want us to just play with you. I’ll have you let us know. I just went shopping for just such an occasion.”
He pulled a head of broccoli out of a shopping bag. “If you want us to keep playing with you, impale your ass on this broccoli. Deal?”
There’s no way I want them to “play with me”, and no way I wanted to impale my ass onto broccoli of all things. Where do these perverts come up with this? Broccoli?
The technician pulled out a pat of butter, and smeared it over the broccoli stem. “Buttered for easier insertion. It will be on the chair behind you.”
I stood on my one good leg, idly swinging my cast. The mammogram plates slowly rose, taking my throbbing breasts with them. Helpless, I went on tiptoe to follow my breasts. Then the plates thankfully lowered. And kept lowering. The machine’s grip on my boobs made me start to squat or have them yanked down. The machine tilted to lean me forward. I heard the technician move the chair behind me before the machine straightened, slowly lowering my ass to line up with the buttered broccoli.
I felt the buttered stem at my sphincter. The machine was stronger than my ass. I’d best relax and let it in. The stem slid in as I was lowered onto it, impaling me until the head of the broccoli touched my butt.
Dr. Roper was triumphant “Great! We *knew* you loved this!”
The technician started fiddling with the mammogram controls, playing me like a puppet as I followed my throbbing boobs. He had me stand, broccoli sticking out of my butt. He leaned me forward, then upright, leaning a bit back, then forward, then back. I finally realized he had programmed the machine to have me thrusting sexually back and forth at his command. There’s no way to be proud with vegetables sticking out of your rear, forced to put on this wonton mimicry of sex. I was their cunt to be played with.
He stood next to me and pulled down his pants. I looked at his enlarged penis, and tried to remind him about the “no sex” agreement. With my mouth held so wide open, all that came out was ”Aaahh aahhh hhhaaahhh ahh!!”. He started rubbing his penis, jerking off as I was forced to repeatedly thrust into mid-air.
Dr. Roper had fished into the shopping bag again, pulling out a carrot, including the long green leafy stem. He buttered it up as I watched helplessly. He held it just inside of my thrust-range, and I was forced to move into it, then withdraw as the machine directed. The next thrust it was a bit deeper. He moved the carrot a bit more forward thrust by thrust as I am forced to impale myself on it, turning my crotch into a pervert’s produce aisle, with just the leafy green stem sticking out from my labia lips.
The tech stroked and stroked, finally spurting out his load, as the white goo left a sticky trail over the side of my casted thigh. “Aaahhh! What a work of art. I should sign that puppy!” He pulled out a thick black marker, and wrote “J. Zee’s Jizm” with an arrow pointing to his cum. He smiled, content with his work.
I was flabbergasted. That’s going to be on my leg for 5 more weeks! The doctors, medical techs and physical therapist are going to going to see that!
I felt Dr. Roper wiggling the broccoli up my ass. I turned to look, and I saw him behind me, pants down, penis hard as a rock, his hand rocking it back and forth. I clenched down on the broccoli. If I have vegetables up my ass, there’s nowhere for him to stick his penis in. With a gasp and a shiver, he splattered his white load of warm semen over the back of my bright yellow cast.
They finally stopped the rocking motion of the machine, content to lift me up onto tiptoe, balancing on my one good foot.
As I stood there, casted leg dangling, they decided to “Decorate it, Cunt style”. Dr Roper wrote a label “Broccoli stain. Ask me how it got there!” J. Zee is more artistic, making a “Danger – Slippery when wet” warning on my inner thigh. I stood there helplessly, breasts throbbing, nipples yanked out, my jaw has been stretched for a while, and it was starting to ache.
All of these humiliating messages were black lettering on a bright yellow cast. Nobody can miss them.
The grand finale is a large “Humiliated Cunts . Com” in block letters going up the front of my thigh. They congratulated each other on a job well done, and finally released my breasts from their crushing captivity. I whimpered as the blood rushes back in to my boobs as they filled out again.
They released my arms from their captivity, and let me release my nipples from their stretchers. I massaged them until they felt better, much to Dr Roper and J. Zee’s amusement.
As I got dressed, I noticed that all of the graffiti on my leg was above the knee. As humiliating as it all was, I would be able to wear skirts in public without even freaking out a nun. “J. Zee” explained that he actually was a mammogram technician, and pulled out the shots he took. “With that amount of compression, the readings were quite easy to read, and your breasts look fabulous.” He was smiling as he paid me cash, and I smiled back as I got the “doubling” bonus for the complete shoot, bringing me out of the red, and into the black.
As I left Suburban Healthcare, and crutched to my car, they called out “See you for your next annual exam!”
Send any comments, questions, or recommendations to bracemaiden@hotmail.com
30.11.08
story continues in Trisha – Finding My Way Chapter 6: Folsom Street Fair
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