TallBlond1
Forum Regular
The Evil Doctor Hackandrill
by Steve Geary
It had been so long since young Tim Anderson had felt close to his father, but now that he was accompanying his Dad in their convertible to the adjoining state for a doctor’s visit, he realized he’d never felt quite this close to his old man.
Several miles back, Tim had pulled off his shirt, allowing the sun's rays to gently kiss his strong chest, and now he stretched his muscular arms high in the air, letting the breeze whip through his armpits and cool his trim torso. He put his hands behind his head, his eyes sparkling in the sun as he looked over at his father and smiled, his mouth chock full of dazzling white teeth.
John Anderson was fumbling with radio knobs to pull in a new station. “Here's a good song,” his father finally said. As Harry Chapin’s Cat’s in the Cradle started playing, Tim smiled happily, closed his eyes and felt a serene inner peace. What a difference a few days can make -- only last week, Tim had wondered if he and his Dad would ever transcend the unhappy nature of the father-son relationship in this particular song.
Tim opened his eyes and finally spoke. “I’m pleased -- and honored, sir, that you’re allowing me to accompany you on this trip.”
Mr. Anderson smiled happily back at his boy, his crinkled eyes looking every bit of their forty-five years. “These are the good times, son,” he said. “I thought we should enjoy each others’ company again and just let bygones be bygones.”
Tim swallowed hard. “I sure appreciate you forgiving me, Pop.” He wiped the blond locks back from his forehead.
Mr. Anderson looked at his son. Twenty-two years old Tim was, six feet tall, and with skin surprisingly adept at tanning for a youth with such light blond hair. The boy was the spitting image of his father at that young age.
Tim’s Dad bit his lip. “What happened between you and your mother last winter is all behind us, son.”
“Dad, you have to believe me,” Tim blurted out. “I meant what I said -- I didn't go after her. She cornered me, practically threw herself at me like Mrs. Robinson in The Graduate. She said I reminded her of you when you were my age.”
Mr. Anderson smiled. “No doubt.”
“Honestly, Pop -- I’d never have screwed her so many times if I’d known what kind of trouble it’d cause. Have you really forgiven me?”
Mr. Anderson sighed as he looked at himself in the rearview mirror. Yes, he was still handsome. The father had been twenty-two years old himself when Tim’s mother-to-be first caught sight of him. The man had been so physically attractive that one date was all he needed to get her in the sack, and Tim was their souvenir.
Now, the elder Anderson’s hair had darkened, ultimately turning gray at the temples. He’d kept his body up as best as he knew how. For a forty-five-year old man, he was a knockout, but never again would he pass for a youth in his twenties. “It's a nasty thing about age, son,” he said. “I’ll always love your momma. She’s a middle-aged woman now, but in her mind she’s still a damned teenager. She’ll always want the young-uns. That’s why your Dad’s visiting Dr. Hackandrill.”
“What a weird name. What does he do, Dad? And why do you need me?” Tim's piercing eyes were filled with questions.
Mr. Anderson smiled. “He’s a rejuvenator, son.”
“A rejuvenator? What’s that?”
Mr. Anderson gave his offspring a pat on one of the boy’s muscular, hairy thighs, wondering how passionately his wife must have caressed those sexy leg hairs as her son thrust his young cock up her vagina. “The doctor will explain it all, boy.”
“But, why do you need me?”
Mr. Anderson smiled. “I need you because I have a rare blood type. You’ve got it, too, son. You’ll be my donor.”
Tim tried to comprehend it all. “So that’s it. That’s why I’m here. I’m your blood donor.”
Mr. Anderson put his arm around his son’s shoulder. “Son, this will make everything right between us. If you do this for me, I promise you, I’ll completely forgive you for what you did with your momma.”
The next couple of hours were quiet as both men were lost in thought. Tim pressed a finger to his youthful chest and saw that he was picking up some sun. His mind began to wander and gradually he dozed off.
Mr. Anderson looked over at his son several times during the journey and studied the boy’s sharp face and body. No wonder his wife had thrown up her legs for this youthful punk. By any standard, Tim was gorgeous -- a slender, muscular, perfectly built specimen of young manhood. Most fathers would be bursting with fatherly pride to have such a good-looking child. Why then, at this moment, did Mr. Anderson feel only envy, maybe even jealousy?
He studied his boy’s sleeping face as the sun kissed it. The eyelids fluttered. Such an innocent look -- as angelic in sleep as it was devilishly handsome while awake. ‘Enjoy your rest, Tim,’ the father said to himself. ‘All of us get our day in the sun.’
No doubt about it, Tim’s physical resemblance to what Mr. Anderson used to be was remarkable. If all went well with Dr. Hackandrill, Mr. Anderson would soon have those looks again.
“The doctor will see you now.”
Mr. Anderson had been anxiously sitting there while his boy, somewhat bored, pored through the reading material in the waiting room. The father tapped Tim on the leg. “Put down whatever you’re reading, boy.”
Tim resisted being pulled away from his girlie mag but got up and shuffled off after his Dad. The pretty, young receptionist led them to an office and smiled as she opened the door. “Dr. Hackandrill is waiting for you,” she said pleasantly.
The doctor shuffled some papers and then quickly stood up from his desk, grinning from ear to ear. He was an attractive man, probably in his late forties, about six feet tall, with a strong jaw and bald head. He strode toward them with large steps. “Welcome, welcome,” he said. “Good to see you again, John. Glad you made it without trouble. Pleasant journey?”
“Very pleasant, thank you.”
“Yes, yes, very good,” Dr. Hackandrill said as he walked around both father and son. “So, both you men have AB-negative blood types. Very rare! We haven't seen any of you in all my years of practice. Did you know that only 1% of the population has your type of blood?”
Tim laughed. “Wow! I had no idea I was so special.”
The doctor put his hand on Tim’s shoulder and smiled in an encouraging, fatherly way. “Oh, you’re special, Tim, very special indeed! Here, you two sit down and we’ll talk about what we’ll be doing today.” The doctor walked over to his coffee machine. “Would either of you like some?”
As his father nodded yes, Tim threw himself into a plush chair and made himself comfortable. “Never drink the stuff. It's Mountain Dew for me.”
The doctor made his way to a small refrigerator. “Dear me, I’m afraid we don’t have any soft drinks.”
Tim dismissed the notion of soda pop with his hand. “Aw, that’s OK. I’m wide awake.”
The doctor reached for a thermometer and stuck it in Tim’s mouth. “Since you’re not drinking anything, we’ll take your temperature first.”
His teeth clenched around the thermometer, Tim asked, “Pop here says that you’re a rejuvenator. What the hell is that?”
“Watch your language, Tim,” Mr. Anderson quickly scolded. “Show the doctor some respect.”
Dr. Hackandrill smiled proudly. “What we do, Timmy, is plastic surgery for the 21st century. We’re the logical step forward in science -- more satisfying than facelifts, better than liposuction! -- although we use those techniques extensively in every procedure we do.” The father smiled knowledgeably. He knew what to anticipate today because he’d already had his initial consultation and received the promotional pamphlets and videos.
The doctor continued, “You see, Timmy, with that old twentieth century technology, the patient would look better -- wrinkles would disappear and the fat would be suctioned away, but were the operations a fountain of youth? Sadly, no.”
“I thought they were supposed to make you look younger,” Tim frowned.
Dr. Hackandrill chuckled as he pulled out the thermometer. “No, Timmy. Utilizing only those antiquated procedures, a wrinkled 60-year old with fat deposits ended up looking slimmer, smoother and more handsome, but he still looked every bit of sixty! Years ago I decided that science could do better than that. I've since honed my skills to perfection. With me, the patient virtually takes on the age of the donor! Which, in this case, Timmy, is you.”
Tim was as bewildered as he was confused. “You mean, my Dad will wind up my age?”
Dr. Hackandrill chuckled politely. “No, Timmy, we haven’t gotten that far yet. The heart, lungs, kidneys -- all these things will remain their natural age. But we can accomplish the next best thing -- we’ll make your father appear to once again be a young man. And in today’s youth-oriented culture, isn’t that an awfully close second?"
The good doctor beamed and Mr. Anderson was deliriously immersed in happy thoughts as he anticipated his new life. The doctor raised himself from his chair. “Timmy, you don’t mind if I speak with the patient in private, do you?”
The boy was a little startled. “Oh, I’m sorry -- sure, no problem. I’ll just go back to the waiting room and read my magazine.”
“Very good, Timmy. We’ll call for you in a moment.”
As soon as the boy left, the doctor spoke in a confidential tone to Tim’s Dad. “John, the boy’s perfect,” he said. “He's about six feet -- exactly your build! I love his healthy, peaches and cream complexion. I wish you hadn’t allowed him to get sun today but I’m sure I can work around that.”
“Yes, I forgot about the sun,” Mr. Anderson replied. “You think everything will be okay, doc?”
“All will be fine,” the doctor said confidently. Pointedly, he added, “Now, John, you’re remembering, of course, that what we’ll be doing today is highly illegal.” Mr. Anderson nodded. “Good. You took all the precautions? Didn’t tell anyone you were coming here? Didn’t get any speeding tickets on the way or buy gas with a credit card?”
“No, doc. I followed your pre-op instructions to the letter.”
“Excellent,” Dr. Hackandrill beamed.
Mr. Anderson grabbed the doctor by the shirt sleeve. “Doc, I told you on the phone what my son did with my wife. You're going to give him the works, right?”
Dr. Hackandrill nodded. “Absolutely, Mr. Anderson. You paid top dollar. His day will be most unpleasant.” His face emitted a wicked smile. “I'll even throw in some derogatory language for free.”
“When can we start?”
“I don’t see why we can’t get started right away,” the doctor said as he took stock of himself. “You ready?”
“Ready? I can’t wait!”
“Fine. We’ll get a very good result today, John. Now let’s go have some fun with your son.”
Tim was feeling awkward. Shortly after he’d been sent back to the waiting room, a couple of muscle goons had directed him to a small changing area where he was to strip and put on some strange gown that tied in the back.
“Guys, I still don’t even know why I’m here,” he said. “Isn’t this kinda weird? Why the fuck do I need to strip? Don’t you just need access to an arm or something?”
“Calm down, kid. The doctor will explain everything when the time’s right,” one of the guys replied from underneath his military haircut. “Now get naked.”
Tim swallowed hard. He’d hoped the studs would leave so he might change in private, but they studied him closely with their arms folded across their chests as he dejectedly fumbled with shoes and socks. Slowly he pulled off his T-shirt. “Underwear, too, punk. Hurry it up. We don’t have all day.”
Damn, where was that sweet secretary when he needed her? This meant he had to get bare-assed in front of other males. Tim was well-endowed, but his cock was shriveling, and like the rest of him just wanted to disappear into the woodwork. Tim would definitely complain to his Dad about this treatment on the ride home.
Feeling more than a little vulnerable, Tim modestly turned toward the wall, shucked his underwear down past his thick pubic hair and let his cock adjust to the room air. “Raise your hands over your head,” one of the guys said, and after they guided his arms through the proper holes, he felt a skimpy garment being tied roughly behind him. He was immediately marched to the operating room. At least he wasn’t still naked.
Both the doctor and his Dad were in the room waiting for him, his father likewise clothed in a skimpy gown. Tim was vaguely aware of another presence sitting silently in the shadows, but Tim’s concentration preferred to focus on his father’s familiar, friendly face.
“Here you go, Timmy. Up on this table.” Dr. Hackandrill patted a cushioned, rectangular slab in a friendly manner as he held his other hand behind him. There were actually two tables in front of the doctor, one for Tim and the other for his father. Both tables were tilted downward at a 45-degree angle. They had straps along the side which were obviously meant to hold a patient in place.
“How long will this take, sir?” Tim asked as he climbed onto the left table and lay on his back.
“It’ll be over before you know it,” the doctor smiled. “Bruno! Hans! Strap him down.”
Tim grunted as those same muscle goons from before roughly bound him much too tightly into place. The bonds pushed Tim’s guts inward, and once Tim was secured, the doctor pulled a large syringe out from behind his back and plunged it hard into Tim’s neck. “OWW! What the hell was that?!” Tim cried as his body trembled.
The doctor smiled as he used his most relaxed bedside manner. “That, son, is a shot so strong it would paralyze a horse. It’ll take only a moment to feel the effect.”
“What the HELL?!” Tim cried. “DAD! That shot hurts! HELP!”
“Sorry, son, I can’t help you,” Mr. Anderson said apologetically.
The doctor tossed the syringe into a waste receptacle as Tim fought his restraints. “Hans! Bruno! You know your jobs. Hold him down,” the doctor ordered impatiently. It was obvious why the doctor resorted to such brick shit houses in his employ. The muscle goons were all over Tim, snarling and breathing in his face, pressing their heavy bodies into his and forcing him back down on the table.
“Get off me, you bastards!” Tim shouted, the veins in his neck popping. He could hardly breathe. Not only did he feel their unbelievable muscle weight pinning him to the bed, his own body seemed to be getting heavier. His strong arms quickly lost strength. He couldn’t lift them. Nothing seemed to work.
Gradually the men let go of him and got behind their boss. “There you go, young man,” the good doctor smiled. “You're now paralyzed from the neck down. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Tim was confused. Why was this necessary? Why wasn’t his body working? And where was his Dad? He thrashed his head from left to right as he moaned. Eventually from his supine position he managed to see his old man sitting in a chair, smiling.
“Gentlemen, this little fucker won’t be going anywhere,” the doctor announced. “Now, let’s see what we’ve caught here.” To Tim’s horror, right there in front of his pop, the doctor loosened Tim’s garment and revealed Tim’s naked front. He was a sight to behold, beautifully muscled in all his naked glory, with dark blond hair patches under his arms and in his crotch. “Fuckers! Let go of me!” Tim cried.
“Oh my, yes, a beautiful male body indeed,” Dr. Hackandrill said, obviously pleased. “Look at the texture of his skin.” Everyone mumbled approval.
As Tim’s face blushed crimson with embarrassment, the doctor ran his fingers along the contours of the young chest, then down the center abdominal line to the navel. “It’s marvelous, just marvelous,” he announced. “Very supple. And look down here at his thick penis. I’ll bet his genitals become nine or ten inches long when he has an erection.”
Mr. Anderson spoke up. “The boy takes after me in that department.”
The doctor coughed. “Yes, no doubt, John,” he acknowledged. “But have you seen your son close-up lately? Take a look. See how divinely sexy his testicles are. Nice and plump. And isn’t his thick bush a remarkably youthful color?”
Tim gnashed his teeth. “Dad, are you really going to let them do this to me?”
Tim could barely look as his father smiled, examined him closely and nodded. “I sure am, son.”
The doctor pulled the boy’s legs up so that the feet were over his head. “We've only just begun, Timmy. The first thing we’ll need to do now is plug up your butt. We don’t want any leakage during the operation.”
He gazed at the boy’s anus and tapped it with his finger. “NICE asshole,” the doctor whistled. Tim could feel the doctor’s breath. “Very supple flesh.” As the doctor crouched down and brought his face up to Tim’s hole, the boy gritted his teeth with anger. “And look how nicely the hairs surrounding his hole ripple with the breeze,” the doctor said as he puckered his mouth and gently blew on Tim’s asslips. Tim screamed the deep primal yell of a young man in anguish.
“Ahh,” the doctor smiled. “Isn’t that a beautiful sound, men? There’s really nothing quite so sexy as a young male voice screaming. So soothing to the ear when compared to the shrill female variety.”
Hans and Bruno held Tim’s blond, hairy legs up and kept the hole exposed. “Lube,” the doctor ordered as he put on a rubber glove.
Hans handed the doctor a large Crisco jar. After coating the glove with generous amounts of white jelly, Dr. Hackandrill gently massaged the hole, then rammed two fingers in, digging in deep and making larger and larger circles inside the soft anal cavity. “You like being fucked, don’t you, boy?” he asked. He was rewarded with another deep and agonized groan.
“Yes, the boy’s loosening up nicely,” the doctor said. “I suspect this ass isn’t virginal. Now, men, no matter what happens inside this boy’s body, it’s imperative that the skin itself not be damaged,” he explained. He made several clockwise, then counter-clockwise motions as Tim yelled and gnashed his teeth. “OK, the opening’s ready. Plug.”
Bruno lifted a large, thick cylindrical object approximately ten inches long and handed it to the doctor. “Hammer,” the doctor ordered. When it was passed to him, the doc looked at Tim and said, “OK, pussy boy. Ready for some fun?” Tim cursed profanities, his eyes flashing angrily as he watched the doc in holy terror.
Whap, whap, whap! Tim’s intestines were quickly hammered up into his lungs as ten inches of butt plug were pounded deep inside his body. He screamed to high heaven and his torso went into convulsions as it attempted to accommodate the anal intruder.
The doctor eyed his work with satisfaction. “That’ll do it,” he said. “Sorry that was so painful, fuckboy, but your father specifically forbade us from using anesthesia. He said something about you deserving all the pain we can dish out.”
‘Dammit, of course! My Dad KNEW they’d be hurting me!’ Tim’s mind was racing. His brain may have been in agony, but he fought to gather his thoughts and maintain his composure as all his internal nerve endings pleaded for mercy.
“This boy is a remarkable specimen, indeed,” the doctor said nonchalantly as he put Tim’s legs back into their original position. “Penis clamp.”
A strange object resembling a heavy metal clothespin was screwed over the crown of Tim’s cock and locked down. “Beautiful. Everything’s sealed off,” the doctor announced. “OK, let’s get started. Kid, you’re now ready to be a donor. First thing we need to do is hydrate you.”
‘Hydrate me?’ Tim watched the doctor with disbelief as his intestines gurgled around the huge dildo. His eyes followed the doctor’s hand as it reached for a long hose hanging from the ceiling. Carefully, the doc brought the hose down to the boy’s lips. “We plugged you up because we’ll be filling you with water, boy. Without it, your body may go into shock at an inopportune moment. Open your mouth.”
The boy refused. He held his lips tightly shut.
“Listen, asshole, if you don’t obey me, we have ways of opening your mouth for you.” Still Tim shook his head.
“Hans, hold his nose.”
Hans smiled as he took Tim’s nose and pinched it shut. Tim stared cross-eyed at the fingers and realized his face was turning red. He couldn’t breathe. Finally, with lungs ready to burst, the body’s survival instincts kicked in. Tim’s mouth opened.
Quickly, the doctor pushed the thick tube past Tim’s lips. “Suck on the hose, boy. Take everything we give you. If you don’t swallow the water, it’ll fill your lungs and you’ll drown! Just admit that you love dick, and that this is the biggest, tastiest cock you've ever sucked.” With that, Dr. Hackandrill shoved so much of the hose deep inside the youth’s face that it was forced several inches past his throat curve. Tim’s eyes were blinded with tears, his face almost purple as he gagged. Nevertheless, the hose stayed put.
With his mouth contorted almost beyond recognition, his eyes again locked with those of his smiling father. Instinctively, he knew what the old man was thinking. ‘He's imagining what I'd look like if instead of a stud I were some damned faggot.’ FUCK!
His father was enjoying the sight. He’d helped to create Tim, after all. Now he was going to see his son destroyed. The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away.
Even in this helpless state, Tim’s ribcage looked powerful and his abdomen sleek and hollow. The doctor turned a knob several times and Tim could feel water gushing through the tube in his mouth. He sensed his body filling with liquid.
“How much water will you give him, doctor?” Mr. Anderson asked.
“About five gallons,” Dr. Hackandrill explained. “This will not only hydrate him, it’ll help stretch out the skin. The more bloated we make him, the tighter the skin will become, and easier to cut. Speaking of stretching -- men, go ahead and attach his arms and legs to the ropes.”
Tim’s wrists and ankles were quickly surrounded by tight metal clamps. Down from the ceiling tumbled four heavy ropes. After the ropes were strung through the clamp rings, the doctor turned a crank. Now, pulleys in the ceiling started to stretch Tim’s arms and legs away from his torso, actually lifting his body away from the bed. Tim became airborne as his extremities threatened to pop out of their sockets.
“Excellent,” the doctor said. “This allows us total access to your son’s body, John. You like what you see?”
“Damn right I do,” Mr. Anderson responded happily. “Fucking son-of-a-bitch! Screwing my wife! I've wanted to see him like this for months!”
“Well, if he’s an S.O.B., what does that makes you?” the doctor winked. He patted the boy’s stomach and listened to it with his stethoscope. “Oh yes, it’s filling up very nicely,” he said. “We just passed the two-gallon mark. Keep watching your son’s belly. In a few moments, he’ll look eighteen months pregnant!”
Even with his throat stuffed with hose, Tim’s muffled howls filled the room. His head flopped left and right, trying to relinquish the hose, but it was too firmly embedded. With a few more cranking motions, the pulleys stretched Tim’s body so tightly that his yells trailed off. His face was painfully stretched into a silent scream.
Everyone was mesmerized by the sight of Tim’s belly growing. His flat, six-pack abdominal wall was ballooning out. Soon his abdomen protruded in a disgustingly malformed manner, well past his ribcage. The belly button started to push outward. Tim’s body seemed to be in danger of bursting like a water balloon.
“While he’s filling up, I’ll explain a few things,” the doctor said. “Human skin varies in thickness from 0.5 millimeters on the eyelids to four millimeters covering the palms and soles. It’s so important to have a good surgeon, John. You want someone who knows how to guide his knife.”
The boy’s voice briefly found itself. The doctor was distracted by an eery moan from Tim’s throat. The doc was obviously annoyed. “Will someone please shut that pussyboy up?” he barked.
Bruno delivered a few nasty and painful slaps to Tim’s face before the doctor continued. “As you know, John, all types of factors can make the skin look older -- not the least of which are the aging process and the elements, especially the sun. Thankfully, because of your boy’s young age, his tanning habits haven't affected his skin’s appearance yet. Anyway, after I separate every inch of his outer and inner epidermis from head to toe, we’ll do the same with you, John, although unlike Tim you’ll be sedated. We’ll doctor your body with liposuction and implants where necessary. You can rest assured, my friend -- your new body will have an unbelievably youthful glow.”
“I can't wait, doctor!” Mr. Anderson's voice made no attempt to hide his enthusiasm.
“We’re almost there with the water,” Dr. Hackandrill replied.
What had once been a hard, flat, six-pack on Tim’s stomach was now so bloated it’d become distended. The doctor pushed gently at the stomach. “Very good, he’s ready. Watch me closely, John, because I work quickly!”
Dr. Hackandrill pushed a button which caused the floor at the foot of both operating tables to open up. A small pool became visible just under the floor surface, a pool housing a sizzling liquid. “That's acid,” the doctor explained. “Anything I don't use gets tossed down there.”
After applying a second paralyzing shot to Tim’s head, the doctor picked up a scalpel and brought it up close to boy’s face. “This is going to hurt you more than it does me, boy,” he smiled. As Bruno pulled out the hose from Tim’s mouth and quickly replaced it with a mouth plug, the doctor grabbed Tim's head and quickly guided his scalpel along the top of the forehead. Just inside Tim’s hairline, the doctor cut a path down both sides of the face and around the ears toward the nape of the neck. The boy moaned painfully as a path of blood trailed behind the knife.
The blade was then run around the collarbone and across each shoulder. “It’s amazing,” the doctor said. “We’ve made such advances in medical science. And for you, John, a few months after we run your body through this same procedure, your final scars will be almost invisible.”
Tim’s throat made gurgling sounds of resistance as the doctor sliced down the side of his body, cutting a line from the armpit to the hips.
Carefully, the doctor then worked up from the feet. Up and down the fingers and toes of the arms and legs the surgeon made his cuts. Whenever he had to get past a restraint, one of the muscle studs would unclamp Tim’s body just long enough to allow the blade to pass. It was a highly focused effort, requiring the good doctor to utilize the utmost concentration. Soon he was sweating, his bald head damp with perspiration.
“Now’s the tricky part,” the doctor said. “We want everything to come off in one piece.” Taking his fingers, he started at the top of Tim’s head, grabbed the forehead skin, and gently pulled downward, causing Tim’s handsome face to peel away from the underlying tissue -- first the forehead, then the eyebrows and nose, finally the mouth and ears. Starting from the other side, the doctor peeled back the entire scalp.
Soon Tim’s head was an unrecognizable skull, red eyeballs and the remnants of oozing, bloody muscles where the boy’s face used to be. The skin of the head draped around Tim’s shoulders like a barber smock. There was a tearing sound as skin was pulled from the strong muscles of the back and chest. In short order, the only skin still attached to the boy clung to the lower abdomen, cock, and ass.
“We’re coming along nicely,” a pleased Dr. Hackandrill told the room. He removed the penis clamp and with heavy pliers pulled out the anal plug.
The plug had obviously caused a good deal of damage to Tim’s internal organs. A torrent of warm, red water gushed out of the violated asshole and cock only to bleed down into the acid pool. It took several minutes for the water to stop gushing from Tim’s bloated body, but bit by bit, Tim’s distended stomach returned to its normal size. When it did, the doctor peeled the rest of Tim's skin away, taking the entire cock and asshole with it.
The doctor had managed a miraculous feat -- he was now holding one entire bloody sheet of skin from Tim’s body --everything still intact, from the face and scalp to the chest, cock, and blond pubes.
Tim’s appearance had completely changed. Except for the blue, bloodshot eyeballs, nothing about the strange being bound in its restraints remotely resembled a living human, let alone John Anderson’s son. The bizarre, bloodied vision hung silently at a 45-degree angle in front of them, its tongue hanging out from the skull’s teeth. Unable to express anger or cry without tear ducts, the eyes glistened, a distant look emanating from them as the astonished being inside tried to make sense of what had just happened to him.
Dr. Hackandrill looked at the father. “Well, that’s it,” he said. “We’ve got his skin and that’s all we need. The rest of the body we can dispose of.”
Spellbound, Mr. Anderson studied what remained of his boy. The body contorted and shivered, but maybe those were just a dead nervous system’s death spasms. “Are you sure he’s still alive?” the father asked.
“Yes, but we can fix that,” the doctor replied. “At a medical facility, we have any of a number of ways to terminate what’s left of a body. We might shoot him full of barbiturates. We could suffocate him. Or -- ” He looked at Mr. Anderson mischievously. “There's always a, how shall I put it? -- highly effective, old-fashioned way! Yes, John, a psychologically healthy way which would allow you, as a man, to vent some well-deserved anger against another human being.”
He walked to a cabinet and pulled out a revolver. “There are six bullets in this gun. Would you like to do the honors?”
Mr. Anderson gently took hold of the revolver as if it were a rare jewel. “Damn!” he grinned. His heart raced faster. “And I'm good with guns, too,” he remarked.
“Think of what this supposedly loving son of yours did with your wife,” the doctor smiled. “Wouldn't you like to be the one to send him to hell?”
Mr. Anderson smiled. “I sure would.”
“Then do it. SHOOT him. It’ll feel good, Mr. Anderson. Go ahead. SNUFF YOUR SON.”
Mr. Anderson raised the gun excitedly, aiming it right between the haunted blue eyes which stared right back at him. Blood in the hole where the nose used to be moved back and forth as what was left of Tim attempted to breathe.
The father clenched his jaw, hesitating. “Your boy has to die now, Mr. Anderson,” the doctor said. “He can’t exist without skin.”
Mr. Anderson’s hand shook, then fell. “Damn, I just can’t do it,” he said, disappointed in himself.
“Fine, I’ll do it myself,” the doctor said as he took back the revolver. “Hans! Tighten the pulleys!"
Hans worked with the crank. “Yeah! Stretch him out!” The boy found his voice again as he felt what remained of his body get ripped apart. The doctor aimed the pistol, and a split second later, Tim’s left kneecap exploded. The body jerked. A strange howling came from Tim’s exposed throat.
The doctor giggled as he aimed the gun again. There was another popping sound, and what remained of Timmy’s right thigh blew open. More shrieking came from the skinned figure, and a moment later, a fresh bullet wound appeared in the center of Tim’s right shoulder. With each bullet, bits of muscle and tissue spun off the body and landed on the floor, where Bruno tossed them into the acid pool. The bloody globs made many a loud crackling and spitting noise as meat and bone dissolved to nothing.
Hans continued to stretch the body. The left arm made a popping sound as it was dislocated from the shoulder. “Your son’s guts would’ve fallen out by now if he didn’t have such fine abdominal muscles,” the doctor explained. With that, he shot the boy twice directly in the stomach and chest.
Tim’s had an otherworldly look to them. After absorbing so many bullets, the body started heaving as if it wanted to vomit.
The astonished, struggling final words came from somewhere in the middle of the neck: “Oh, DAAAAAD --- ” the strange figure said, looking directly at his father. Slowly, the voice rasped, “I’m DEAAAAAAAAA --- ” Before it could finish, the body’s spine snapped, the stomach hurled and a violent red waterfall of blood and bile poured out of the mouth.
The head fell sharply to the side.
Twenty-two-year-old Tim was dead.
Hans and Bruno quickly unclasped what remained of the corpse. It crumpled to the ground and was kicked into the acid pool. Mr. Anderson laughed as he yelled into the bubbling pool, “See ya in hell, MOTHER FUCKER!”
What was left of the body quickly incinerated. The entire room burst into applause. “Wasn't that fun?” Dr. Hackandrill asked cheerily. He pointed a finger. “Mr. Anderson, you are a coward.”
The father smiled affectionately at the doctor. “Yeah. Well, I’m glad we could count on you, doc. Serves the little bastard right. Of course, when you strip off my skin and conform his hide to my body, we’re gonna use anesthesia, right?”
Dr. Hackandrill smiled pleasantly. “John, I'm afraid there’s been a slight change of plan.”
“Huh? Change of plan?” The figure from the shadows finally came forth and jabbed a needle into the father’s neck. He immediately felt his body tighten up.
The doctor sat down and talked quietly but passionately to his captive audience. “I'm getting older, too, Mr. Anderson, and I’ve always searched for a certain type of young man to be a donor here,” he explained. “Your son was about my build. His skin will do quite nicely. You see, John--you, your late son and I have much in common. I, too, have AB-negative blood.”
The father’s eyes blinked, trying to comprehend what the doc was telling him. He looked around the room quizzically as the good doctor shrugged his shoulders, rubbed the top of his bald head and motioned to his assistant. “Do your thing, Bruno.”
Bruno had been chomping at the bit throughout this entire operation. He threw Mr. Anderson’s paralyzed body against the operating table, grabbed a sharp, heavy axe, raised it high over his head and brought it crashing straight down on top of Mr. Anderson’s larynx.
A gaping, grisly wound nearly split John Anderson’s neck into two pieces. Only a bit of spine connected the head to the body. The man’s face took on a ghastly expression, his mouth gurgling and his eyes wide open in bewildering pain as two thick jets of blood soared out the top of his neck and sprayed like twin fountains several feet into the air. Bruno raised the axe again and within seconds he had finished the job, severing the father’s skull from the body. The head broke off, rolled down the table, bounced once and with perfect precision landed with a splash in the pool of acid.
With his mouth wide open, Mr. Anderson tried to scream. His head began to sizzle away as it was engulfed by the angry, corrosive agent. Skin, muscles, and eyeballs bubbled furiously as they were quickly incinerated. As a reflex, the mouth robotically opened and closed like a fish out of water.
The facial movements got slower and slower as the father’s head turned on its side and sank slowly to the bottom of the acid pool. As the acid chewed through the smoking skull, the bone softened and brains began to seep, then pour, out of the collapsing wreckage. The head was very passive as it gradually became a thing. The thing dissolved and grew smaller and smaller. Little red wisps of skin and brain matter bubbled slowly to the surface. Soon Mr. Anderson’s head was gone without a trace.
“I guess that father-son rendezvous in hell was a little sooner than Daddy thought!” Dr. Hackandrill chuckled.
Back on the slab, the spurts of blood shooting out of Mr. Anderson’s neck stump slowed to a trickle. “Very good, Bruno,” Dr. Hackandrill smiled calmly. “We'll make sure their car is melted down and all traces of our visitors removed from the facilities. Well, gentlemen, are we ready? We’ve waited many months for this moment.”
The figure which had jabbed Mr. Anderson with the needle walked over, smiling confidently. The doctor hugged him. “You remember everything I’ve taught you, brother?”
The figure nodded silently. Bruno and Hans carefully brought over the six-foot pelt which had until recently housed young Tim’s body.
“Excellent. Let’s begin, shall we?”
It was months before the good doctor felt ready to take on another patient, but it was a day which he and his entire staff had long anticipated.
The new client sat in the waiting room, looking much like all the previous patients. He was in his early fifties. His situation was typical -- old enough to feel dismay regarding his wrinkles, receding hairline and liver spots, but young enough to remember the glory days of his not-so-distant youth.
Warily, the client eyed the smiling man in the doctor’s smock. “You look rather young to be a doctor,” he said skeptically.
Dr. Hackandrill smiled a boyish grin as he ran his fingers through the full, blond bangs hanging down his youthful forehead. “Appearances can be deceiving,” he said good-naturedly.
“Would you like some coffee? Let’s sit down and begin your consultation.”
by Steve Geary
It had been so long since young Tim Anderson had felt close to his father, but now that he was accompanying his Dad in their convertible to the adjoining state for a doctor’s visit, he realized he’d never felt quite this close to his old man.
Several miles back, Tim had pulled off his shirt, allowing the sun's rays to gently kiss his strong chest, and now he stretched his muscular arms high in the air, letting the breeze whip through his armpits and cool his trim torso. He put his hands behind his head, his eyes sparkling in the sun as he looked over at his father and smiled, his mouth chock full of dazzling white teeth.
John Anderson was fumbling with radio knobs to pull in a new station. “Here's a good song,” his father finally said. As Harry Chapin’s Cat’s in the Cradle started playing, Tim smiled happily, closed his eyes and felt a serene inner peace. What a difference a few days can make -- only last week, Tim had wondered if he and his Dad would ever transcend the unhappy nature of the father-son relationship in this particular song.
Tim opened his eyes and finally spoke. “I’m pleased -- and honored, sir, that you’re allowing me to accompany you on this trip.”
Mr. Anderson smiled happily back at his boy, his crinkled eyes looking every bit of their forty-five years. “These are the good times, son,” he said. “I thought we should enjoy each others’ company again and just let bygones be bygones.”
Tim swallowed hard. “I sure appreciate you forgiving me, Pop.” He wiped the blond locks back from his forehead.
Mr. Anderson looked at his son. Twenty-two years old Tim was, six feet tall, and with skin surprisingly adept at tanning for a youth with such light blond hair. The boy was the spitting image of his father at that young age.
Tim’s Dad bit his lip. “What happened between you and your mother last winter is all behind us, son.”
“Dad, you have to believe me,” Tim blurted out. “I meant what I said -- I didn't go after her. She cornered me, practically threw herself at me like Mrs. Robinson in The Graduate. She said I reminded her of you when you were my age.”
Mr. Anderson smiled. “No doubt.”
“Honestly, Pop -- I’d never have screwed her so many times if I’d known what kind of trouble it’d cause. Have you really forgiven me?”
Mr. Anderson sighed as he looked at himself in the rearview mirror. Yes, he was still handsome. The father had been twenty-two years old himself when Tim’s mother-to-be first caught sight of him. The man had been so physically attractive that one date was all he needed to get her in the sack, and Tim was their souvenir.
Now, the elder Anderson’s hair had darkened, ultimately turning gray at the temples. He’d kept his body up as best as he knew how. For a forty-five-year old man, he was a knockout, but never again would he pass for a youth in his twenties. “It's a nasty thing about age, son,” he said. “I’ll always love your momma. She’s a middle-aged woman now, but in her mind she’s still a damned teenager. She’ll always want the young-uns. That’s why your Dad’s visiting Dr. Hackandrill.”
“What a weird name. What does he do, Dad? And why do you need me?” Tim's piercing eyes were filled with questions.
Mr. Anderson smiled. “He’s a rejuvenator, son.”
“A rejuvenator? What’s that?”
Mr. Anderson gave his offspring a pat on one of the boy’s muscular, hairy thighs, wondering how passionately his wife must have caressed those sexy leg hairs as her son thrust his young cock up her vagina. “The doctor will explain it all, boy.”
“But, why do you need me?”
Mr. Anderson smiled. “I need you because I have a rare blood type. You’ve got it, too, son. You’ll be my donor.”
Tim tried to comprehend it all. “So that’s it. That’s why I’m here. I’m your blood donor.”
Mr. Anderson put his arm around his son’s shoulder. “Son, this will make everything right between us. If you do this for me, I promise you, I’ll completely forgive you for what you did with your momma.”
The next couple of hours were quiet as both men were lost in thought. Tim pressed a finger to his youthful chest and saw that he was picking up some sun. His mind began to wander and gradually he dozed off.
Mr. Anderson looked over at his son several times during the journey and studied the boy’s sharp face and body. No wonder his wife had thrown up her legs for this youthful punk. By any standard, Tim was gorgeous -- a slender, muscular, perfectly built specimen of young manhood. Most fathers would be bursting with fatherly pride to have such a good-looking child. Why then, at this moment, did Mr. Anderson feel only envy, maybe even jealousy?
He studied his boy’s sleeping face as the sun kissed it. The eyelids fluttered. Such an innocent look -- as angelic in sleep as it was devilishly handsome while awake. ‘Enjoy your rest, Tim,’ the father said to himself. ‘All of us get our day in the sun.’
No doubt about it, Tim’s physical resemblance to what Mr. Anderson used to be was remarkable. If all went well with Dr. Hackandrill, Mr. Anderson would soon have those looks again.
----------------------------------------
“The doctor will see you now.”
Mr. Anderson had been anxiously sitting there while his boy, somewhat bored, pored through the reading material in the waiting room. The father tapped Tim on the leg. “Put down whatever you’re reading, boy.”
Tim resisted being pulled away from his girlie mag but got up and shuffled off after his Dad. The pretty, young receptionist led them to an office and smiled as she opened the door. “Dr. Hackandrill is waiting for you,” she said pleasantly.
The doctor shuffled some papers and then quickly stood up from his desk, grinning from ear to ear. He was an attractive man, probably in his late forties, about six feet tall, with a strong jaw and bald head. He strode toward them with large steps. “Welcome, welcome,” he said. “Good to see you again, John. Glad you made it without trouble. Pleasant journey?”
“Very pleasant, thank you.”
“Yes, yes, very good,” Dr. Hackandrill said as he walked around both father and son. “So, both you men have AB-negative blood types. Very rare! We haven't seen any of you in all my years of practice. Did you know that only 1% of the population has your type of blood?”
Tim laughed. “Wow! I had no idea I was so special.”
The doctor put his hand on Tim’s shoulder and smiled in an encouraging, fatherly way. “Oh, you’re special, Tim, very special indeed! Here, you two sit down and we’ll talk about what we’ll be doing today.” The doctor walked over to his coffee machine. “Would either of you like some?”
As his father nodded yes, Tim threw himself into a plush chair and made himself comfortable. “Never drink the stuff. It's Mountain Dew for me.”
The doctor made his way to a small refrigerator. “Dear me, I’m afraid we don’t have any soft drinks.”
Tim dismissed the notion of soda pop with his hand. “Aw, that’s OK. I’m wide awake.”
The doctor reached for a thermometer and stuck it in Tim’s mouth. “Since you’re not drinking anything, we’ll take your temperature first.”
His teeth clenched around the thermometer, Tim asked, “Pop here says that you’re a rejuvenator. What the hell is that?”
“Watch your language, Tim,” Mr. Anderson quickly scolded. “Show the doctor some respect.”
Dr. Hackandrill smiled proudly. “What we do, Timmy, is plastic surgery for the 21st century. We’re the logical step forward in science -- more satisfying than facelifts, better than liposuction! -- although we use those techniques extensively in every procedure we do.” The father smiled knowledgeably. He knew what to anticipate today because he’d already had his initial consultation and received the promotional pamphlets and videos.
The doctor continued, “You see, Timmy, with that old twentieth century technology, the patient would look better -- wrinkles would disappear and the fat would be suctioned away, but were the operations a fountain of youth? Sadly, no.”
“I thought they were supposed to make you look younger,” Tim frowned.
Dr. Hackandrill chuckled as he pulled out the thermometer. “No, Timmy. Utilizing only those antiquated procedures, a wrinkled 60-year old with fat deposits ended up looking slimmer, smoother and more handsome, but he still looked every bit of sixty! Years ago I decided that science could do better than that. I've since honed my skills to perfection. With me, the patient virtually takes on the age of the donor! Which, in this case, Timmy, is you.”
Tim was as bewildered as he was confused. “You mean, my Dad will wind up my age?”
Dr. Hackandrill chuckled politely. “No, Timmy, we haven’t gotten that far yet. The heart, lungs, kidneys -- all these things will remain their natural age. But we can accomplish the next best thing -- we’ll make your father appear to once again be a young man. And in today’s youth-oriented culture, isn’t that an awfully close second?"
The good doctor beamed and Mr. Anderson was deliriously immersed in happy thoughts as he anticipated his new life. The doctor raised himself from his chair. “Timmy, you don’t mind if I speak with the patient in private, do you?”
The boy was a little startled. “Oh, I’m sorry -- sure, no problem. I’ll just go back to the waiting room and read my magazine.”
“Very good, Timmy. We’ll call for you in a moment.”
As soon as the boy left, the doctor spoke in a confidential tone to Tim’s Dad. “John, the boy’s perfect,” he said. “He's about six feet -- exactly your build! I love his healthy, peaches and cream complexion. I wish you hadn’t allowed him to get sun today but I’m sure I can work around that.”
“Yes, I forgot about the sun,” Mr. Anderson replied. “You think everything will be okay, doc?”
“All will be fine,” the doctor said confidently. Pointedly, he added, “Now, John, you’re remembering, of course, that what we’ll be doing today is highly illegal.” Mr. Anderson nodded. “Good. You took all the precautions? Didn’t tell anyone you were coming here? Didn’t get any speeding tickets on the way or buy gas with a credit card?”
“No, doc. I followed your pre-op instructions to the letter.”
“Excellent,” Dr. Hackandrill beamed.
Mr. Anderson grabbed the doctor by the shirt sleeve. “Doc, I told you on the phone what my son did with my wife. You're going to give him the works, right?”
Dr. Hackandrill nodded. “Absolutely, Mr. Anderson. You paid top dollar. His day will be most unpleasant.” His face emitted a wicked smile. “I'll even throw in some derogatory language for free.”
“When can we start?”
“I don’t see why we can’t get started right away,” the doctor said as he took stock of himself. “You ready?”
“Ready? I can’t wait!”
“Fine. We’ll get a very good result today, John. Now let’s go have some fun with your son.”
----------------------------------------
Tim was feeling awkward. Shortly after he’d been sent back to the waiting room, a couple of muscle goons had directed him to a small changing area where he was to strip and put on some strange gown that tied in the back.
“Guys, I still don’t even know why I’m here,” he said. “Isn’t this kinda weird? Why the fuck do I need to strip? Don’t you just need access to an arm or something?”
“Calm down, kid. The doctor will explain everything when the time’s right,” one of the guys replied from underneath his military haircut. “Now get naked.”
Tim swallowed hard. He’d hoped the studs would leave so he might change in private, but they studied him closely with their arms folded across their chests as he dejectedly fumbled with shoes and socks. Slowly he pulled off his T-shirt. “Underwear, too, punk. Hurry it up. We don’t have all day.”
Damn, where was that sweet secretary when he needed her? This meant he had to get bare-assed in front of other males. Tim was well-endowed, but his cock was shriveling, and like the rest of him just wanted to disappear into the woodwork. Tim would definitely complain to his Dad about this treatment on the ride home.
Feeling more than a little vulnerable, Tim modestly turned toward the wall, shucked his underwear down past his thick pubic hair and let his cock adjust to the room air. “Raise your hands over your head,” one of the guys said, and after they guided his arms through the proper holes, he felt a skimpy garment being tied roughly behind him. He was immediately marched to the operating room. At least he wasn’t still naked.
Both the doctor and his Dad were in the room waiting for him, his father likewise clothed in a skimpy gown. Tim was vaguely aware of another presence sitting silently in the shadows, but Tim’s concentration preferred to focus on his father’s familiar, friendly face.
“Here you go, Timmy. Up on this table.” Dr. Hackandrill patted a cushioned, rectangular slab in a friendly manner as he held his other hand behind him. There were actually two tables in front of the doctor, one for Tim and the other for his father. Both tables were tilted downward at a 45-degree angle. They had straps along the side which were obviously meant to hold a patient in place.
“How long will this take, sir?” Tim asked as he climbed onto the left table and lay on his back.
“It’ll be over before you know it,” the doctor smiled. “Bruno! Hans! Strap him down.”
Tim grunted as those same muscle goons from before roughly bound him much too tightly into place. The bonds pushed Tim’s guts inward, and once Tim was secured, the doctor pulled a large syringe out from behind his back and plunged it hard into Tim’s neck. “OWW! What the hell was that?!” Tim cried as his body trembled.
The doctor smiled as he used his most relaxed bedside manner. “That, son, is a shot so strong it would paralyze a horse. It’ll take only a moment to feel the effect.”
“What the HELL?!” Tim cried. “DAD! That shot hurts! HELP!”
“Sorry, son, I can’t help you,” Mr. Anderson said apologetically.
The doctor tossed the syringe into a waste receptacle as Tim fought his restraints. “Hans! Bruno! You know your jobs. Hold him down,” the doctor ordered impatiently. It was obvious why the doctor resorted to such brick shit houses in his employ. The muscle goons were all over Tim, snarling and breathing in his face, pressing their heavy bodies into his and forcing him back down on the table.
“Get off me, you bastards!” Tim shouted, the veins in his neck popping. He could hardly breathe. Not only did he feel their unbelievable muscle weight pinning him to the bed, his own body seemed to be getting heavier. His strong arms quickly lost strength. He couldn’t lift them. Nothing seemed to work.
Gradually the men let go of him and got behind their boss. “There you go, young man,” the good doctor smiled. “You're now paralyzed from the neck down. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Tim was confused. Why was this necessary? Why wasn’t his body working? And where was his Dad? He thrashed his head from left to right as he moaned. Eventually from his supine position he managed to see his old man sitting in a chair, smiling.
“Gentlemen, this little fucker won’t be going anywhere,” the doctor announced. “Now, let’s see what we’ve caught here.” To Tim’s horror, right there in front of his pop, the doctor loosened Tim’s garment and revealed Tim’s naked front. He was a sight to behold, beautifully muscled in all his naked glory, with dark blond hair patches under his arms and in his crotch. “Fuckers! Let go of me!” Tim cried.
“Oh my, yes, a beautiful male body indeed,” Dr. Hackandrill said, obviously pleased. “Look at the texture of his skin.” Everyone mumbled approval.
As Tim’s face blushed crimson with embarrassment, the doctor ran his fingers along the contours of the young chest, then down the center abdominal line to the navel. “It’s marvelous, just marvelous,” he announced. “Very supple. And look down here at his thick penis. I’ll bet his genitals become nine or ten inches long when he has an erection.”
Mr. Anderson spoke up. “The boy takes after me in that department.”
The doctor coughed. “Yes, no doubt, John,” he acknowledged. “But have you seen your son close-up lately? Take a look. See how divinely sexy his testicles are. Nice and plump. And isn’t his thick bush a remarkably youthful color?”
Tim gnashed his teeth. “Dad, are you really going to let them do this to me?”
Tim could barely look as his father smiled, examined him closely and nodded. “I sure am, son.”
The doctor pulled the boy’s legs up so that the feet were over his head. “We've only just begun, Timmy. The first thing we’ll need to do now is plug up your butt. We don’t want any leakage during the operation.”
He gazed at the boy’s anus and tapped it with his finger. “NICE asshole,” the doctor whistled. Tim could feel the doctor’s breath. “Very supple flesh.” As the doctor crouched down and brought his face up to Tim’s hole, the boy gritted his teeth with anger. “And look how nicely the hairs surrounding his hole ripple with the breeze,” the doctor said as he puckered his mouth and gently blew on Tim’s asslips. Tim screamed the deep primal yell of a young man in anguish.
“Ahh,” the doctor smiled. “Isn’t that a beautiful sound, men? There’s really nothing quite so sexy as a young male voice screaming. So soothing to the ear when compared to the shrill female variety.”
Hans and Bruno held Tim’s blond, hairy legs up and kept the hole exposed. “Lube,” the doctor ordered as he put on a rubber glove.
Hans handed the doctor a large Crisco jar. After coating the glove with generous amounts of white jelly, Dr. Hackandrill gently massaged the hole, then rammed two fingers in, digging in deep and making larger and larger circles inside the soft anal cavity. “You like being fucked, don’t you, boy?” he asked. He was rewarded with another deep and agonized groan.
“Yes, the boy’s loosening up nicely,” the doctor said. “I suspect this ass isn’t virginal. Now, men, no matter what happens inside this boy’s body, it’s imperative that the skin itself not be damaged,” he explained. He made several clockwise, then counter-clockwise motions as Tim yelled and gnashed his teeth. “OK, the opening’s ready. Plug.”
Bruno lifted a large, thick cylindrical object approximately ten inches long and handed it to the doctor. “Hammer,” the doctor ordered. When it was passed to him, the doc looked at Tim and said, “OK, pussy boy. Ready for some fun?” Tim cursed profanities, his eyes flashing angrily as he watched the doc in holy terror.
Whap, whap, whap! Tim’s intestines were quickly hammered up into his lungs as ten inches of butt plug were pounded deep inside his body. He screamed to high heaven and his torso went into convulsions as it attempted to accommodate the anal intruder.
The doctor eyed his work with satisfaction. “That’ll do it,” he said. “Sorry that was so painful, fuckboy, but your father specifically forbade us from using anesthesia. He said something about you deserving all the pain we can dish out.”
‘Dammit, of course! My Dad KNEW they’d be hurting me!’ Tim’s mind was racing. His brain may have been in agony, but he fought to gather his thoughts and maintain his composure as all his internal nerve endings pleaded for mercy.
“This boy is a remarkable specimen, indeed,” the doctor said nonchalantly as he put Tim’s legs back into their original position. “Penis clamp.”
A strange object resembling a heavy metal clothespin was screwed over the crown of Tim’s cock and locked down. “Beautiful. Everything’s sealed off,” the doctor announced. “OK, let’s get started. Kid, you’re now ready to be a donor. First thing we need to do is hydrate you.”
‘Hydrate me?’ Tim watched the doctor with disbelief as his intestines gurgled around the huge dildo. His eyes followed the doctor’s hand as it reached for a long hose hanging from the ceiling. Carefully, the doc brought the hose down to the boy’s lips. “We plugged you up because we’ll be filling you with water, boy. Without it, your body may go into shock at an inopportune moment. Open your mouth.”
The boy refused. He held his lips tightly shut.
“Listen, asshole, if you don’t obey me, we have ways of opening your mouth for you.” Still Tim shook his head.
“Hans, hold his nose.”
Hans smiled as he took Tim’s nose and pinched it shut. Tim stared cross-eyed at the fingers and realized his face was turning red. He couldn’t breathe. Finally, with lungs ready to burst, the body’s survival instincts kicked in. Tim’s mouth opened.
Quickly, the doctor pushed the thick tube past Tim’s lips. “Suck on the hose, boy. Take everything we give you. If you don’t swallow the water, it’ll fill your lungs and you’ll drown! Just admit that you love dick, and that this is the biggest, tastiest cock you've ever sucked.” With that, Dr. Hackandrill shoved so much of the hose deep inside the youth’s face that it was forced several inches past his throat curve. Tim’s eyes were blinded with tears, his face almost purple as he gagged. Nevertheless, the hose stayed put.
With his mouth contorted almost beyond recognition, his eyes again locked with those of his smiling father. Instinctively, he knew what the old man was thinking. ‘He's imagining what I'd look like if instead of a stud I were some damned faggot.’ FUCK!
His father was enjoying the sight. He’d helped to create Tim, after all. Now he was going to see his son destroyed. The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away.
Even in this helpless state, Tim’s ribcage looked powerful and his abdomen sleek and hollow. The doctor turned a knob several times and Tim could feel water gushing through the tube in his mouth. He sensed his body filling with liquid.
“How much water will you give him, doctor?” Mr. Anderson asked.
“About five gallons,” Dr. Hackandrill explained. “This will not only hydrate him, it’ll help stretch out the skin. The more bloated we make him, the tighter the skin will become, and easier to cut. Speaking of stretching -- men, go ahead and attach his arms and legs to the ropes.”
Tim’s wrists and ankles were quickly surrounded by tight metal clamps. Down from the ceiling tumbled four heavy ropes. After the ropes were strung through the clamp rings, the doctor turned a crank. Now, pulleys in the ceiling started to stretch Tim’s arms and legs away from his torso, actually lifting his body away from the bed. Tim became airborne as his extremities threatened to pop out of their sockets.
“Excellent,” the doctor said. “This allows us total access to your son’s body, John. You like what you see?”
“Damn right I do,” Mr. Anderson responded happily. “Fucking son-of-a-bitch! Screwing my wife! I've wanted to see him like this for months!”
“Well, if he’s an S.O.B., what does that makes you?” the doctor winked. He patted the boy’s stomach and listened to it with his stethoscope. “Oh yes, it’s filling up very nicely,” he said. “We just passed the two-gallon mark. Keep watching your son’s belly. In a few moments, he’ll look eighteen months pregnant!”
Even with his throat stuffed with hose, Tim’s muffled howls filled the room. His head flopped left and right, trying to relinquish the hose, but it was too firmly embedded. With a few more cranking motions, the pulleys stretched Tim’s body so tightly that his yells trailed off. His face was painfully stretched into a silent scream.
Everyone was mesmerized by the sight of Tim’s belly growing. His flat, six-pack abdominal wall was ballooning out. Soon his abdomen protruded in a disgustingly malformed manner, well past his ribcage. The belly button started to push outward. Tim’s body seemed to be in danger of bursting like a water balloon.
“While he’s filling up, I’ll explain a few things,” the doctor said. “Human skin varies in thickness from 0.5 millimeters on the eyelids to four millimeters covering the palms and soles. It’s so important to have a good surgeon, John. You want someone who knows how to guide his knife.”
The boy’s voice briefly found itself. The doctor was distracted by an eery moan from Tim’s throat. The doc was obviously annoyed. “Will someone please shut that pussyboy up?” he barked.
Bruno delivered a few nasty and painful slaps to Tim’s face before the doctor continued. “As you know, John, all types of factors can make the skin look older -- not the least of which are the aging process and the elements, especially the sun. Thankfully, because of your boy’s young age, his tanning habits haven't affected his skin’s appearance yet. Anyway, after I separate every inch of his outer and inner epidermis from head to toe, we’ll do the same with you, John, although unlike Tim you’ll be sedated. We’ll doctor your body with liposuction and implants where necessary. You can rest assured, my friend -- your new body will have an unbelievably youthful glow.”
“I can't wait, doctor!” Mr. Anderson's voice made no attempt to hide his enthusiasm.
“We’re almost there with the water,” Dr. Hackandrill replied.
What had once been a hard, flat, six-pack on Tim’s stomach was now so bloated it’d become distended. The doctor pushed gently at the stomach. “Very good, he’s ready. Watch me closely, John, because I work quickly!”
Dr. Hackandrill pushed a button which caused the floor at the foot of both operating tables to open up. A small pool became visible just under the floor surface, a pool housing a sizzling liquid. “That's acid,” the doctor explained. “Anything I don't use gets tossed down there.”
After applying a second paralyzing shot to Tim’s head, the doctor picked up a scalpel and brought it up close to boy’s face. “This is going to hurt you more than it does me, boy,” he smiled. As Bruno pulled out the hose from Tim’s mouth and quickly replaced it with a mouth plug, the doctor grabbed Tim's head and quickly guided his scalpel along the top of the forehead. Just inside Tim’s hairline, the doctor cut a path down both sides of the face and around the ears toward the nape of the neck. The boy moaned painfully as a path of blood trailed behind the knife.
The blade was then run around the collarbone and across each shoulder. “It’s amazing,” the doctor said. “We’ve made such advances in medical science. And for you, John, a few months after we run your body through this same procedure, your final scars will be almost invisible.”
Tim’s throat made gurgling sounds of resistance as the doctor sliced down the side of his body, cutting a line from the armpit to the hips.
Carefully, the doctor then worked up from the feet. Up and down the fingers and toes of the arms and legs the surgeon made his cuts. Whenever he had to get past a restraint, one of the muscle studs would unclamp Tim’s body just long enough to allow the blade to pass. It was a highly focused effort, requiring the good doctor to utilize the utmost concentration. Soon he was sweating, his bald head damp with perspiration.
“Now’s the tricky part,” the doctor said. “We want everything to come off in one piece.” Taking his fingers, he started at the top of Tim’s head, grabbed the forehead skin, and gently pulled downward, causing Tim’s handsome face to peel away from the underlying tissue -- first the forehead, then the eyebrows and nose, finally the mouth and ears. Starting from the other side, the doctor peeled back the entire scalp.
Soon Tim’s head was an unrecognizable skull, red eyeballs and the remnants of oozing, bloody muscles where the boy’s face used to be. The skin of the head draped around Tim’s shoulders like a barber smock. There was a tearing sound as skin was pulled from the strong muscles of the back and chest. In short order, the only skin still attached to the boy clung to the lower abdomen, cock, and ass.
“We’re coming along nicely,” a pleased Dr. Hackandrill told the room. He removed the penis clamp and with heavy pliers pulled out the anal plug.
The plug had obviously caused a good deal of damage to Tim’s internal organs. A torrent of warm, red water gushed out of the violated asshole and cock only to bleed down into the acid pool. It took several minutes for the water to stop gushing from Tim’s bloated body, but bit by bit, Tim’s distended stomach returned to its normal size. When it did, the doctor peeled the rest of Tim's skin away, taking the entire cock and asshole with it.
The doctor had managed a miraculous feat -- he was now holding one entire bloody sheet of skin from Tim’s body --everything still intact, from the face and scalp to the chest, cock, and blond pubes.
Tim’s appearance had completely changed. Except for the blue, bloodshot eyeballs, nothing about the strange being bound in its restraints remotely resembled a living human, let alone John Anderson’s son. The bizarre, bloodied vision hung silently at a 45-degree angle in front of them, its tongue hanging out from the skull’s teeth. Unable to express anger or cry without tear ducts, the eyes glistened, a distant look emanating from them as the astonished being inside tried to make sense of what had just happened to him.
Dr. Hackandrill looked at the father. “Well, that’s it,” he said. “We’ve got his skin and that’s all we need. The rest of the body we can dispose of.”
Spellbound, Mr. Anderson studied what remained of his boy. The body contorted and shivered, but maybe those were just a dead nervous system’s death spasms. “Are you sure he’s still alive?” the father asked.
“Yes, but we can fix that,” the doctor replied. “At a medical facility, we have any of a number of ways to terminate what’s left of a body. We might shoot him full of barbiturates. We could suffocate him. Or -- ” He looked at Mr. Anderson mischievously. “There's always a, how shall I put it? -- highly effective, old-fashioned way! Yes, John, a psychologically healthy way which would allow you, as a man, to vent some well-deserved anger against another human being.”
He walked to a cabinet and pulled out a revolver. “There are six bullets in this gun. Would you like to do the honors?”
Mr. Anderson gently took hold of the revolver as if it were a rare jewel. “Damn!” he grinned. His heart raced faster. “And I'm good with guns, too,” he remarked.
“Think of what this supposedly loving son of yours did with your wife,” the doctor smiled. “Wouldn't you like to be the one to send him to hell?”
Mr. Anderson smiled. “I sure would.”
“Then do it. SHOOT him. It’ll feel good, Mr. Anderson. Go ahead. SNUFF YOUR SON.”
Mr. Anderson raised the gun excitedly, aiming it right between the haunted blue eyes which stared right back at him. Blood in the hole where the nose used to be moved back and forth as what was left of Tim attempted to breathe.
The father clenched his jaw, hesitating. “Your boy has to die now, Mr. Anderson,” the doctor said. “He can’t exist without skin.”
Mr. Anderson’s hand shook, then fell. “Damn, I just can’t do it,” he said, disappointed in himself.
“Fine, I’ll do it myself,” the doctor said as he took back the revolver. “Hans! Tighten the pulleys!"
Hans worked with the crank. “Yeah! Stretch him out!” The boy found his voice again as he felt what remained of his body get ripped apart. The doctor aimed the pistol, and a split second later, Tim’s left kneecap exploded. The body jerked. A strange howling came from Tim’s exposed throat.
The doctor giggled as he aimed the gun again. There was another popping sound, and what remained of Timmy’s right thigh blew open. More shrieking came from the skinned figure, and a moment later, a fresh bullet wound appeared in the center of Tim’s right shoulder. With each bullet, bits of muscle and tissue spun off the body and landed on the floor, where Bruno tossed them into the acid pool. The bloody globs made many a loud crackling and spitting noise as meat and bone dissolved to nothing.
Hans continued to stretch the body. The left arm made a popping sound as it was dislocated from the shoulder. “Your son’s guts would’ve fallen out by now if he didn’t have such fine abdominal muscles,” the doctor explained. With that, he shot the boy twice directly in the stomach and chest.
Tim’s had an otherworldly look to them. After absorbing so many bullets, the body started heaving as if it wanted to vomit.
The astonished, struggling final words came from somewhere in the middle of the neck: “Oh, DAAAAAD --- ” the strange figure said, looking directly at his father. Slowly, the voice rasped, “I’m DEAAAAAAAAA --- ” Before it could finish, the body’s spine snapped, the stomach hurled and a violent red waterfall of blood and bile poured out of the mouth.
The head fell sharply to the side.
Twenty-two-year-old Tim was dead.
Hans and Bruno quickly unclasped what remained of the corpse. It crumpled to the ground and was kicked into the acid pool. Mr. Anderson laughed as he yelled into the bubbling pool, “See ya in hell, MOTHER FUCKER!”
What was left of the body quickly incinerated. The entire room burst into applause. “Wasn't that fun?” Dr. Hackandrill asked cheerily. He pointed a finger. “Mr. Anderson, you are a coward.”
The father smiled affectionately at the doctor. “Yeah. Well, I’m glad we could count on you, doc. Serves the little bastard right. Of course, when you strip off my skin and conform his hide to my body, we’re gonna use anesthesia, right?”
Dr. Hackandrill smiled pleasantly. “John, I'm afraid there’s been a slight change of plan.”
“Huh? Change of plan?” The figure from the shadows finally came forth and jabbed a needle into the father’s neck. He immediately felt his body tighten up.
The doctor sat down and talked quietly but passionately to his captive audience. “I'm getting older, too, Mr. Anderson, and I’ve always searched for a certain type of young man to be a donor here,” he explained. “Your son was about my build. His skin will do quite nicely. You see, John--you, your late son and I have much in common. I, too, have AB-negative blood.”
The father’s eyes blinked, trying to comprehend what the doc was telling him. He looked around the room quizzically as the good doctor shrugged his shoulders, rubbed the top of his bald head and motioned to his assistant. “Do your thing, Bruno.”
Bruno had been chomping at the bit throughout this entire operation. He threw Mr. Anderson’s paralyzed body against the operating table, grabbed a sharp, heavy axe, raised it high over his head and brought it crashing straight down on top of Mr. Anderson’s larynx.
A gaping, grisly wound nearly split John Anderson’s neck into two pieces. Only a bit of spine connected the head to the body. The man’s face took on a ghastly expression, his mouth gurgling and his eyes wide open in bewildering pain as two thick jets of blood soared out the top of his neck and sprayed like twin fountains several feet into the air. Bruno raised the axe again and within seconds he had finished the job, severing the father’s skull from the body. The head broke off, rolled down the table, bounced once and with perfect precision landed with a splash in the pool of acid.
With his mouth wide open, Mr. Anderson tried to scream. His head began to sizzle away as it was engulfed by the angry, corrosive agent. Skin, muscles, and eyeballs bubbled furiously as they were quickly incinerated. As a reflex, the mouth robotically opened and closed like a fish out of water.
The facial movements got slower and slower as the father’s head turned on its side and sank slowly to the bottom of the acid pool. As the acid chewed through the smoking skull, the bone softened and brains began to seep, then pour, out of the collapsing wreckage. The head was very passive as it gradually became a thing. The thing dissolved and grew smaller and smaller. Little red wisps of skin and brain matter bubbled slowly to the surface. Soon Mr. Anderson’s head was gone without a trace.
“I guess that father-son rendezvous in hell was a little sooner than Daddy thought!” Dr. Hackandrill chuckled.
Back on the slab, the spurts of blood shooting out of Mr. Anderson’s neck stump slowed to a trickle. “Very good, Bruno,” Dr. Hackandrill smiled calmly. “We'll make sure their car is melted down and all traces of our visitors removed from the facilities. Well, gentlemen, are we ready? We’ve waited many months for this moment.”
The figure which had jabbed Mr. Anderson with the needle walked over, smiling confidently. The doctor hugged him. “You remember everything I’ve taught you, brother?”
The figure nodded silently. Bruno and Hans carefully brought over the six-foot pelt which had until recently housed young Tim’s body.
“Excellent. Let’s begin, shall we?”
----------------------------------------
It was months before the good doctor felt ready to take on another patient, but it was a day which he and his entire staff had long anticipated.
The new client sat in the waiting room, looking much like all the previous patients. He was in his early fifties. His situation was typical -- old enough to feel dismay regarding his wrinkles, receding hairline and liver spots, but young enough to remember the glory days of his not-so-distant youth.
Warily, the client eyed the smiling man in the doctor’s smock. “You look rather young to be a doctor,” he said skeptically.
Dr. Hackandrill smiled a boyish grin as he ran his fingers through the full, blond bangs hanging down his youthful forehead. “Appearances can be deceiving,” he said good-naturedly.
“Would you like some coffee? Let’s sit down and begin your consultation.”
Last edited:
