Bordering on a dangerous obsession. Chapter 8
Our next stop was to a fairly plain building in a mini-mall.
Bildhauer Clinic
Orthopedic & Athletic Care
It was a clean, well maintained building, Even the parking lot had no litter or cigarette butts.
Inside had a grey carpet so pristine it looked like it was landscaped.
We walked past several ladies waiting and reading magizines. They looked so similar to each other they had to be triplets, or at least must've had heavy work done.
"Appointment for Dr. Bildhauer for Max."
The receptionist, also pretty and looking quite similar to some movie star I couldn't place, nodded politely and dialed in.
We didn't have to wait. Apparently we were expected as we were ushered into clinic room 3C.
Dr. Bildhauer was a stern lean fellow, and I was gonna nickname him either Doc Nazi or Mengele. If he ever smiled I think it'd tear his skin. He needed a monocle.
"This is the girl?" His accent wasn't German sadly. It was faint, European, and disapproving of everything. He had a slight rasping wheeze.
And he wasn't exactly thrilled with what he saw.
"Yes." Max was unruffled.
"And you want me to sculpt this, "he waved in my direction. "to those specifications you listed? She has the dedication hm? The discipline? I don't do the impossible."
"Show him." My confusion must have been obvious in my body language as he clarified without really looking at me. "Take off your clothes."
When I didn't move he looked slightly annoyed. "He is a doctor and you know you lack absolutely anything I find appealing. Now, off with your clothes."
Bracing myself I started with my coat.
"Dr. Bildhauer is well known among certain circles as a Sculptor. That is a doctor who is a touch more interested in how medicine can change the body than heal it. Those three outside for example are his work, as is the receptionist."
"Like a plastic surgeon then?" My jacket was tossed on the chair behind me and I was pulling my arms in from my sweater.
"Pah, that kind of work is for the impatient and the fool." I could hear his hackles rise at my dig. "Plastic surgery should only be used on the few areas that cannot change, like cartilage and bone. It's like using dynamite and chainsaws on marble where chisels and files are needed. You must have seen how poorly people end up, over time."
Ignoring him, I took a deep breath, grabbed the bottom of my sweater, and pulled it off in one motion. Now topless, I tossed it on my jacket and used the momentum to work on my jeans. The Doc's ranting about Beverly Hills amateur hour chop shops trailed off into silence.
Still not looking at either of them, I kicked my shoes off under the chair and pulled down my jeans. I turned and added them to the growing pile of clothes. My socks I stepped on and pulled off before using my toes to toss them on my shoes.
I still wasn't hearing anything but the Nazi Doc's raspy breathing behind me. Biting my lip, with shaky hands I grabbed the sides of my panties.
Dave better appreciate all the fucking effort I was putting into this. I've killed rooms of people for less.
I pulled them off, counted to ten, and turned to face the Doc in my altogether. Fuck my face was red, and if I caught him staring at my cunt, Max or no Max, I'd kill him with his stethoscope. Or his pen. Or his tongue depressors...
After finding a dozen different items to kill him with in this room (My way of counting to 10) I brought my head up to look the fucker in the face.
I still wish I hadn't.
Oo0oO
I've seen pedo's faces in full perv mode plenty of times. It's how me and Daddy started really. I wasn't nearly good enough to take on whole rooms of armed cunts at once, and, we needed ways to work out the kinks.
So we'd go to the park after tracking down a likely shitbag. Daddy would 'pass out' with a half empty bottle in a brown paper bag on the ground next to his bench, and I would play on the swings in a short skirt until I'd catch the attention of one of them.
Half the fuckers actually used vans. I swear to god.
In the two years we did it, we must've brought New York statistically to the lowest it had ever been for child abductions. They'd 'abduct' me and then get their asses tossed into a wood-chipper after I was done with them.
Oo0oO
Point is, I knew pedos, and Doctor Bildhauer was not one. It would have been easier if he was, then I would have just killed him with the x-ray machine in the corner.
The look on his face had such a hunger on it, but it wasn't for itty-bitty-titty, or to plough a field without grass on it. He looked at me like I was a slab of meat, rather, a block of marble.
Max's voice practically slithered from behind me. "You wanted someone with discipline, yes? Determination to hold a course? This," His hand was on my shoulder. "This is the body of a person already committed to being a super hero. This is Hit Girl and, " he noticed how I tensed up. "Naturally, your discretion, exemplary as it has been, shall be held even higher. For if she doesn't gut you and leave you dying slowly, I will."
The threats didn't phase the Doc in the least, so lost was he in his throes.
"I'll do it." He whispered. "I'll sculpt you your superhero."
"Then let us get started without delay. There's work to be done."
Despite the fact I could easily kill him, kill the both of them, I was still scared shitless.
Oo0oO
An hour later we were done.
The ride home was quiet, mostly because I wasn't saying anything and Max wasn't interested in absent conversation.
After three vials of blood were drawn, some hair samples taken, a dozen x-rays snapped, then came the photos. Hundreds of photos of every part of me from my scalp to my feet. Everything.
And I had an appointment to go back to him in a week, and then he'd really get started on me.
