142. A Bit of a Stretch
Amy thinks for a few moments, then decides that 5 milliliters is probably the right amount. “Wouldn’t want to put myself in danger by using too much of something as dangerous as hydrochloric acid!” she rationalizes, “Besides, I’m pretty sure it’s ten cubic centimeters to the milliliter.” She carefully drops a tiny amount of the acid into the beaker, then continues with her project.
Within an hour, Amy is finished. She marches proudly to the doctor. “All done!” she declares, handing him a bottle of her homemade herbicide.
“Well, well! That was fast! Let’s try it out and see how it works!” The doctor walks over to a table where a small house plant sits in a clay pot. Very carefully, he unstoppers the bottle and pours a drop or two onto the plant.
Nothing happens.
He splashes some more on.
Still nothing.
He dumps the whole bottle out.
If anything, the plant looks a bit healthier.
The doctor turns on Amy, his eyes burning with undisguised rage.
“You’re no botanist! I’ll bet the only plants you’ve grown are the pot that has clearly addled your brain!”
Amy is many things, but a pothead is not one of them. “Hey, I’ll have you know that-”
“Shut up! Fred, grab her!”
Amy looks around for the green giant, but he’s grabbed her arm before she can even figure out a good direction to run in. Soon her arms are pinned behind her back.
“Strip her down and prepare her for one of my… special experiments.”
Amy gulps. That doesn’t sound good. The dour homunculus makes quick work of Amy’s clothes, and after a brief chorus of RIIIIIPS! Amy stands in her heart-print panties. The monster grabs her by the waist and slings her over his shoulder. Amy is carried, kicking and screaming, to a strange table. There is a small central square on the table and four long rectangles jutting out of it in an X shape. Amy is slammed, face-first, onto the table. A manacle slides out and around her neck, trapping her. Fred positions her arms and legs onto the four smaller rectangles, each time locking a manacle around a wrist or an ankle. Amy now lies bound to the table, face-down and spread-eagle. Doctor Carluzzo approaches.
“You lied to me in telling me that you were a botany specialist. You don’t deserve the respect I normally afford test subjects, so I’ve chosen a particularly painful experiment to run on you. You’re well suited to it, as you clearly have no shame.”
The doctor presses a button on a nearby console and Amy can hear a whirring sound coming from behind her. She cranes her neck and, with much effort, finally makes out the source of the noise: a large machine with a giant, telescoping piston is emerging from a panel that has opened up in the floor. Amy begins to sweat as she notes that the piston seems to be pointed directly at her posterior.
“Today, young lady, I will be running one in a series of tests designed to definitively determine the anal elasticity of the North American human female. Naturally, such an exam requires a range of subjects to reach a definitive result. You can see some of my prior ‘volunteers’ over there.” Doctor Carluzzo gestures to a wall, where a series of seven skeletons are displayed behind glass. Amy bites her lip as she notes that each one has a shattered pelvis.
“We test elasticity by penetrating the subject (that’s you) in the anus, with enough force and frequency to distend it. We then remove the probe and measure the time taken for the anal sphincter to return to its original size. We will start small then gradually build to larger sizes.”
Amy gulps. Anal penetration wasn’t really her thing. In fact, she had never had anal sex. She tries to think back to some sex columns she’d read in the campus newspaper about the subject. As she recalls, the secret is to relax and think of something else; clenching would only lead to trouble.
The professor hits a button on his console. A heretofore unnoticed monitor, probably sixty inches, lights up in front of Amy. It displays a gigantic view of her heart-print panty-clad butt. Amy blushes self-consciously.
“We wouldn’t you want to miss any of the action, would we? This will give you a nice probe’s-eye view of what’s going on. Now, let’s get those panties out of the way and get the experiment started…”
Amy shudders as a giant green hand appears on screen and tears her panties off, exposing her muscular, well-rounded buttocks and just a hint of the feminine folds that now lie pressed against the cold steel of the exam table. Doctor Carluzzo pushes a button and Amy hears the machine whirring to life, the view of the camera rapidly pulsing back and forth, moving ever closer to her delicate asshole.
Amy winces. She quickly forgets everything she read about relaxing. To be fair, it wouldn’t have helped.
WHUMP!
The piston makes contact with her ass. “YEEOWCH!” Amy yelps. The cold, hard steel of the piston pushing into her hinder is the least comfortable feeling Amy has ever experienced. And it keeps going. For the next 20 minutes the machine pounds her delicate heiny, Amy squealing with each thrust. Finally it stops.
As the piston emerges, readouts appear on the monitor in front of Amy. Her body trembles as she looks up at it, but the figures are all meaningless to her.
“Very good, your anus recovered from that remarkably quickly. Now, let’s move on to level 2.”
Amy cringes, and with good cause. A notably larger piston positions itself and, after taking careful aim, penetrates her posterior. “YEEEEEAAAAHH!” she screams. The pain is so great this time that Amy thinks she can literally see stars. It takes 30 minutes of this before Doctor Carluzzo is satisfied.
“Well, you’re taking this like a champ. You must have a lot of experience in the area.”
Amy, offended at the implication, tries to shout a come-back, but her pain-addled brain can only muster, “You suck!”
The doctor smiles. “If you insist, I will defer to the expert on the subject.” This time the insult sails right over Amy’s head, but by now she has bigger things on her mind than wordplay, specifically the level 3 piston.
“EEEEEeeeeEEEEEeeeeEEEEeeeeEEEEEEEE!” Amy’s screams have become a constant, wailing cry. The edge of her field of vision goes black as new areas of her brain are re-wired to handle all of the pain signals coming down her neurons. By this point her tender middle has gone numb and she feels the pain directly in her legs and spine. The doctor keeps this up for 40 minutes.
“Still with us?” Doctor Carluzzo asks during the momentary break between sessions.
“Uhh…huh?” Amy looks up at the doctor through bleary, half-closed eyes. She can only grunt and drool in response.
“Excellent! On to level 4!”
This time Amy’s brain shuts off the vocal center. As the pain spreads through her back and up to the tips of her fingers, Amy blissfully loses consciousness. She regains it an indeterminate amount of time later, as the probe is being refitted for level 5. Doctor Carluzzo is snapping in front of Amy’s face. Her eyes are glassy, her jaw slack, her tongue hanging out the side.
“What’s going on in there? You’re not dead yet, are you?” Amy’s eye moves lazily in response.
“Good, good. Most don’t make it past level 4. We’ll see if you can handle level 5.”
Amy makes it two minutes into level 5 before the pain becomes so great that her brain shuts itself down as a sort of emergency override. Doctor Carluzzo, expressing disappointment that she didn’t last longer, has Fred strip Amy’s corpse. Soon Amy joins her fellow test subjects as the 8th skeleton in the display case, jaw still slack, the shattered remains of her pelvis pieced together as well as poor Fred could manage.
Amy is in no condition to continue this adventure or her life.