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touchmypulse · 4 days ago

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Xoma's Female Patient Experiment, Part 1

I was inspired by @Xoma66 's latest work, "Female Patient Experiment" (Trailer) to write this story. I really enjoy watching both of them brutally resuscitating each other. I asked for their permission before starting to write ;)

Here goes.

The medical bay was a stark contrast to the chaos that had been her world only moments ago. The sterile white walls reflected the cold, unfeeling lights above, and the beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound that pierced the eerie silence. Beneath the thin white blanket, the woman's body lay still, the ECG showing that she had long expired. The doctor, a tall, muscular man with piercing eyes and a sharp jawline, strode into the room with a sense of urgency that made the air around him crackle with anticipation. The scent of antiseptic clung to him like a second skin, a testament to his unyielding dedication to his craft.

In his hand, he clutched the syringe, filled with a cocktail of the tiniest of soldiers—nanobots designed to wage a war on the ravages of death. The needle gleamed like a jewel in the stark light, and as he inserted it into her chest, he whispered a silent incantation, a prayer to the gods of science and medicine. He depressed the plunger, watching the fluid vanish into her skin, the nanobots swarming like a colony of ants eager to mend what the universe had deemed broken.

For a moment, nothing happened. The room remained as still as a painting, the only movement the almost imperceptible rise and fall of the doctor's chest as he held his breath. The woman on the table remained a statue of marble, unyielding and silent. Her eyes, once vibrant and alive, stared unblinking at the ceiling, reflecting the cold, unfeeling lights above. The doctor waited, his heart racing as he watched the ECG, the line as flat as the desert horizon.

Suddenly, a tremor rippled through the woman's body, sending a jolt of electricity through the doctor's fingertips. Her body arched off the table, her breasts straining towards him as if in a silent plea. He took a step back, the syringe falling from his hand to clatter against the floor. The seizure grew in intensity, her limbs flailing in a wild dance of life and death. The ECG spasmed into a cacophony of peaks and valleys, a maelstrom of chaotic activity that spoke of the fierce battle within her.

"Yes," the doctor murmured, a twisted smile playing across his lips. "Come back to me." He reached for the defibrillator paddles with a hunger that was both professional and primal. The rubber grips felt reassuring in his hands, the power to give life a seductive siren's call to his fingertips. He hovered over her, the paddles charged and crackling with a vibrant, blue energy that seemed to resonate with the very essence of her being.

With a swift and precise motion, he placed the paddles on her bare chest, one on the upper right, the other on the lower left, the points of contact sending a shiver of anticipation through his body. "Ready?" he whispered to her unhearing form, the room echoing his question. He took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto hers, willing them to flutter open and reveal the warmth of life.

And then, the shock. The room was filled with the electric scent of ozone as the current surged through her, the power of life and science colliding in a symphony of light and sound. Her body convulsed, the muscles beneath her skin rippling like waves crashing against a shore. The ECG leaped , her heart loudly beating twice as she was frozen, every muscle in her body stiff with shock. They, silence as she immediately went back into her flatline seizures.

With a grunt of frustration, the doctor discarded the paddles and leaned over her, his eyes scanning her body for any sign of response. The woman's chest remained still, the only indication of the tumult within the occasional twitch of a muscle or quiver of a nerve. He knew he had to try again, to push the boundaries of what was possible. His fingers danced over her skin, tracing the path of the veins that led to the very core of her being. He was a sculptor, molding life from the clay of death, and she was his masterpiece.

Suddenly, the doctor's hand stilled as an idea struck him with the force of a lightning bolt. He stepped back to the control panel, his eyes scanning the array of buttons and switches with a newfound sense of purpose. His fingers flew over the controls, recalibrating the defibrillator to deliver a stronger charge, one that would shake the very foundations of existence and demand that she live.

He turned to face her again, his gaze intense, his resolve unshakeable. "This time," he murmured, his voice low and seductive, "you will not disappoint me." He approached the table with the confidence of a conqueror, the paddles once again in his grasp.

Her body lay there, vulnerable and exposed, the only sign of life the tweatching and gentle rise and fall of her chest as the ventilator did the work her lungs could not. He took aim, the paddles poised like a lover's embrace. The air was thick with the anticipation of the impending jolt, the very essence of existence holding its breath.

"Clear!" he barked, the word cutting through the silence like a knife. His thumbs pressed down with the finality of a judge's gavel, unleashing the full fury of the defibrillator into her unyielding flesh. The electricity crackled and danced across her skin, painting a picture of desperate resuscitation in the stark white room. Her body convulsed, the power of the shock resonating through every cell, every atom of her being.

Her legs shot up, the blanket slipping away like a lover's embrace, revealing the full extent of her beauty to his ravenous gaze. The doctor's eyes widened, drinking in the sight of her shapely thighs, the apex of her sex a delicate whisper of shadow between them. Her toes curled and uncurled, as if reaching out to him in a silent invitation. He felt the heat rise in his own body, the pulse in his groin echoing the erratic rhythm of the ECG.

Her heart stuttered, beating twice before falling silent once more, the sound a taunt that spurred him on. He knew he had to act quickly, to capture this fleeting spark of life and coax it into a roaring flame. The doctor's eyes darted to the monitor, the line now a tentative, hopeful curve rather than the flat, unyielding line of before.

"Again," he murmured to himself, the word a command and a prayer. He didn't bother with the paddles this time; instead, he adjusted the defibrillator to deliver a constant, pulsing stream of energy directly into her chest cavity. He watched as her body began to shake, the muscles in her abdomen tightening and releasing in an erratic rhythm that mirrored the pulse of the machine. The electricity flowed through her, a river of life that seemed to pulse in time with his own desperate need.

And then, the moaning began. Low and guttural, it grew in intensity until it filled the room, a symphony of pleasure that seemed to resonate with every beat of her artificially induced heart. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing pools of emerald that seemed to see into his very soul. The doctor felt a jolt of arousal at the sound, his own heart racing in response to the primal call of the woman before him.

With each shock, her breasts would rise and fall, the pink tips of her nipples tightening and releasing in time with the rhythm of the machine. Her legs began to twitch, the muscles in her thighs flexing as if she were riding an unseen lover. The doctor's gaze was transfixed by the sight, his own body responding in kind as he watched the power of science bring her back from the brink.

The woman's moans grew louder, filling the room with a symphony of carnality that seemed to defy the very essence of the medical bay. Her hips rolled, the movement slow and seductive, as if she were lost in the throes of passion rather than the grip of a life-saving procedure. The doctor could feel his own need growing, a beast that threatened to consume him as he watched her come back to life before his very eyes.

He knew he had to maintain focus, to keep the electricity from burning her delicate flesh. With trembling hands, he adjusted the defibrillator, the machine's hum a steady backdrop to their intimate dance. The nanobots, those tiny soldiers of science, were working their magic, burrowing into the very fabric of her heart and mending the damage that had been wrought with each wave of electric fervor charging them.

Suddenly, the rhythmic pulse of the machine ceased, leaving only the echo of her final, gasping moan. Her chest stilled, the soft mounds of her breasts rising and falling with the fading remnants of her breath. The doctor's eyes narrowed, his concentration unbroken as he checked the ECG for any sign of life. But the line remained flat, a cold, unfeeling rejection of all his efforts.

With a growl of determination, he turned to her, his hand moving to her chest with a fiery passion. His palms pressed down with an intensity that was almost savage, the heat of his touch searing through her skin and into her very soul. The woman's breasts jiggled with each compression, the soft mounds seeming to implore him to continue, to give her the spark she needed to live.

The doctor's eyes remained glued to the mesmerizing dance of her chest, his mind racing with thoughts that were no longer purely clinical. The way her flesh yielded to his touch, the tantalizing bounce of her nipples with every press, it was as if he was kneading life back into her very essence. Each compression was a declaration of his desire, a silent promise to conquer the void that had claimed her.

Her breasts, those exquisite mounds of femininity, jiggled with a tantalizing rhythm under his palms, each movement a silent whisper of life's potential. The doctor found himself lost in the symphony of her body's response, his breathing growing shallow as he matched his own pulse to the rhythm of his compressions. It was as if he were conducting an orchestra of desire, each beat a crescendo that brought her closer to the precipice of existence.

The woman's skin grew slick with cold sweat, her body a sculpture of shimmering beauty in the stark light of the medical bay. The doctor's eyes traced the rivulets of moisture that danced down the valleys of her chest, her stomach, and between her legs, pooling in the soft, inviting warmth of her sex. He could feel the heat of her arousal, a scent that mingled with the sterility of the room and filled his nostrils with a heady perfume of desire.

With trembling hands, he raised the defibrillator paddles high above her, the cords snaking around his arms like a serpent ready to strike. His heart pounded in his chest, the rhythm matching the pulse of the machine, the anticipation of the impending shock a crescendo of passion that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Again," he murmured, his voice thick with the promise of life and the darker, more primal need that had been awakened in him. He brought the paddles down with the force of a lover's embrace, the crack of electricity piercing the silence like the snap of a whip.

Her body arched off the table, a sculpture of need and want, her skin gleaming with cold sweat that made her shine like a diamond in the stark light. The doctor's eyes feasted on the sight, the line between medical necessity and carnality blurring into oblivion. The ECG spasmed once more, the line rising and falling in a desperate quest for life.

The doctor's hand hovered over the defibrillator button, the anticipation palpable. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, the soft mounds of her breasts quivering with each shallow breath, as if begging for his touch. The room was a cocoon of need, the only sound the ragged inhale of his own breath and the erratic beep of the machine that kept her tethered to the world of the living.

With a fierce determination, he delivered another shock, the electricity coursing through her body like a bolt of lightning, illuminating every curve and contour with a fierce blue glow. Her boobs bounced with the force of his will, the tender flesh rippling in a symphony of life and lust. The doctor's eyes were glued to the mesmerizing display, his own breath hitching in his chest as he took in the beauty of her involuntary response.

And then, it happened. The ECG screen flickered, the line jolting upward with the suddenness of a dormant volcano springing to fiery life. The erratic peaks and valleys smoothed into a steady, pulsing wave—finally, the sweet, sweet rhythm of sinus rhythm. The room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, the tension dissipating like a storm cloud after a passionate downpour. The doctor's eyes lit up with triumph, a fierce grin stretching across his face.

Read part two!

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