Inverted Mermaid & Metal Fist

Na-bi hung half out of the tank, gasping like a wounded animal. Her battered solar plexus burned as if it had been set on fire, and her lower body — raked over by the eels — was sheathed in sticky mucus, sensation gone numb. Through her blurring vision, she watched the Hospital Director's shoes click closer across the tiles.

"Didn't you ask me to just kill you a moment ago?"

He tilted his head, posing the question as if it were a mild curiosity. Before she could answer, the world flipped.

A sharp click.

"Aaaaah?!"

The Hospital Director unlatched the restraints that had been supporting her under the arms, then tore open the leather straps binding her thighs and calves. He seized her ankles and locked them into the suspension shackles hanging from the ceiling.

A motor whirred. The pulley turned, and Na-bi's body was hoisted upside down. Blood rushed to her head as the world inverted.

"You said you wanted to die, so I'll give you a taste of death."

He shoved the back of her writhing, inverted body.

A heavy splash.

"Mmph?! Pffhh—!!!!"

This time, headfirst. Her upper body plunged into the tank of mucus. Cold, viscous liquid poured into her nose and mouth. She couldn't breathe. When she forced her eyes open, dozens of eels were swarming toward her face — boring at her nostrils, tearing at her ears, threading through her hair.

"Mmph! Mmph! Nngh—!"

She flailed underwater, but her ankles were bound; there was nowhere to go. The oxygen in her lungs burned away, replaced by a rising flood of brackish eel slime and filth. Consciousness began to slip.

He yanked her out by the ankles.

"Pwah! Cough! Ghk! Hack!"

She hung in midair, vomiting water. There was no time to rest.

"We're far from finished."

Splash. Back under. The terror of suffocation. The sensation of her lungs catching fire. He dunked her and pulled her out again and again, like a tea bag. Her entire body was coated in eel mucus, slick and gleaming, and her stomach was swollen with filthy water.

"Grrlk... ghk..."

When she finally went limp and stopped responding, he hauled her fully out of the tank and slammed her upper body onto the examination table beside it. Her lower half remained suspended in the air.

"You've drunk far too much water. We'll have to get it out."

His fist drove into her water-bloated solar plexus with surgical precision.

"Ghhk!!!!!!"

The contaminated water she had swallowed erupted from her mouth and nose in a waterfall. Her stomach clenched as if it were being wrung out, and her body jackknifed like a shrimp on the table.

"Urgh! Hack!Cough..."

She gasped and retched, bringing up water streaked with blood. The Hospital Director showed no interest in her agonized face. His gaze traveled upward.

It settled on her lower body, hanging in midair, spread wide open.

The space between her legs was a wreck of mucus where the eels had come and gone. The two holes, forced open by a speculum and an anal expander, gaped and fluttered, unable to close. Deep inside the vagina, at the cervix, a silver probe was still embedded, glinting.

"Hmm. What a mess. I can't seem to find the probe."

He told the obvious lie as he pulled on a pair of latex gloves.

"I'll have to look for it."

He pushed his index finger into her vaginal opening.

A wet grind.

"Nngh!"

Her body jerked. His fingers were not human flesh. Each joint was a hard mechanical digit built of metal ball joints, and even through the glove that alien rigidity could not be hidden.

The middle finger followed. Then the ring finger, the pinkie, the thumb.

"Ah! Aah! Too many—you're going to tear me!"

She screamed, but he did not stop. He gathered all five fingers into a point, turned his hand on edge, and drove it into her.

A grinding shove. Then a deep, wet slide.

"Gyaaaaaaah!!!!"

The fist went in. Her vaginal walls stretched to their limit, and the sound of capillaries bursting filled the air. The protruding metal joints scraped along the soft inner flesh as they passed.

"Now where did it hide... in here, perhaps?"

With his fist still buried inside her, he opened and closed his hand, stirring her insides. The hideous sensation of a steel fist clenching in her belly. Her uterus was crushed; her bladder was compressed.

"It hurts! Nngh. Ghk. Nngh—"

She clawed at the examination table, thrashing, but her ankles were chained in the air. There was nowhere to run. He twisted his fist left and right, savoring her pain.

"Found it."

Only after he had turned her insides into a ruin did he yank the fist free.

A wet pop. Fluids poured out in a stream.

The stretched vaginal opening gaped and would not close. He used his fingers to shove the probe — still buried deep — roughly to one side.

"We've made room. Time to put in the real thing."

He dropped his trousers and drew out a massively erect cock. Then, putting his full weight behind it, he drove himself in a single stroke into Na-bi's defenseless, hanging, wide-open cunt.

A deep, wet puncture. Then a crunch.

"Gyaaaaaaaaah!!!!!!"

The probe was shoved against one vaginal wall, gouging into the flesh, and the Hospital Director's enormous shaft packed the space beside it to bursting.

He gripped her ankles and pulled her toward himself, snapping his hips downward as if he were driving a stake.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"Ghhk! Ghk! Nngh—!"

A piston driven by gravity and body weight. Each thrust bounced her body on the examination table. The shackles flayed the skin from her ankles, and a blinding pain crashed through her as if her entire pelvis were being torn free.

"Good... squeeze down tight... that eel mucus is driving me insane!"

He seized her ass in both hands and pounded into her with abandon. Her head lolled, limp.

"I'm coming! Take it!"

A deep, grinding pulse. Then another. Then another.

He poured scalding semen into the depths of her uterus. It was not the end. He kept moving his hips without pause as he came — the inexhaustible stamina unique to a mannequin.

Na-bi's lower belly swelled like ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a balloon. The water she had vomited up was being replaced; this time it was his semen, filling her all the way to the womb.

"Hah..."

He pulled out.

A thick, continuous pour.

Semen cascaded from the hole that would not close, soaking the floor.

A click. The leather straps cinched around her ankles came free. The legs that had been hanging in the air dropped, limp. She could not move. On the examination table her limbs lay splayed like a beached squid, the muscles of her inner thighs twitching and fluttering with spasms.

"Rehabilitation training. Get down."

He peeled off the bloodied gloves, tossed them in the trash, and issued the order. Na-bi stared at the ceiling with unfocused eyes. Her lower belly felt heavy. The presence of the silver metal rod still lodged in her uterus — the probe — was unbearably distinct. Every breath made the tip of the steel prod jab at the roof of her womb.

"Can't you hear me?"

His shoe drove into her side.

"Ghhk!"

The shock rang through her ribs and rolled her off the edge of the table.

She hit the floor. Her cheek smashed into the cold tiles.

"Urgh... cough..."

She crawled, dry-heaving.

She tried to stand. Her legs would not take her weight. Her rectum had been ravaged by the eels until it hung open, and her vagina — wrecked by the probe, then brutally punched and fucked — would not close.

"How lazy."

He clicked his tongue. He looked down at her huddled on the floor, at the lower abdomen swollen tight with fluid.

"Too heavy to get up, are we? I'll have to lighten the load."

His shoe came down on her bloated belly.

"Nngh!!!!!! Aaaaaaah!"

He put his weight into it and pressed.

A hissing gush. Then a pour.

Unable to withstand the pressure, her vaginal opening disgorged a rush of foamy fluid, semen, and clots of blood. The space between her legs became a flood in an instant. The probe lodged in her uterus did not come out. The abdominal compression only drove it deeper, as if it meant to punch through the cervix entirely.

"Nngh... it hurts... my belly's going to burst..."

She clung to his ankle. She clawed at his trouser leg until her nails broke.

"Stand up. You need to practice walking."

He seized her by the collar and hauled her upright. Her legs trembled. She staggered like a newborn calf. She could not close her thighs. Every time the handle of the probe protruding from between her legs brushed her inner thigh, a nauseating chill ran through her.

"Just walking would be too boring."

He took something from the cart. A thick length of surgical tubing — but it was not smooth. He had tied heavy knots along its length, dense lumps of rubber jutting at ten-centimeter intervals, a knotted, uneven cord.

"We'll need to connect this."

He stepped behind her. Taking hold of her ass, he bound one end of the tube tightly to the ring on the probe's handle.

A cinch. Tight.

"...?"

A bad feeling made her try to look back. He offered no explanation. He let the long knotted line unspool across the floor, then tied the far end to a post of the parallel bars in the corner of the treatment room — the ones used for walking practice.

"Now then. Walk over there for me."

He pointed to the opposite side of the room. Roughly fifteen feet. The tube connected to Na-bi's uterus was only about ten feet long.

"Go."

He kicked her in the ass.

"Ah—!"

She staggered forward a step.

A rattle. A tap.

The probe handle jutting from her uterus swayed. The rubber tube dangling from it dragged across the floor. Every time one of the thick knots caught in a gap between the tiles, the probe was yanked — tap, tap — from inside her.

"Nngh... nngh..."

She clutched her lower belly. Every step felt like a fishhook catching in her gut. A knot snagged on the floor. The line went taut. The probe tugged at the mouth of her uterus. The hideous mechanism chewed at her brain.

"Faster. This patient has no will to rehabilitate."

He followed behind her, striking her calves with the reflex hammer in his hand.

A sharp crack.

"Aah!"

She lurched two steps forward as if she'd been launched.

A clatter. Then a hard jerk.

One of the knots dragging along the floor caught in a drain hole. The line snapped taut.

"Gyaaaaaaaaah!!!!!!"

A blinding pain, as if her uterus were being torn out whole. The probe tried to slide free, then caught on the cervix and stopped. The metal tip scraped the inner wall and bent. A grinding crunch sounded from inside her belly.

"Excellent! The uterus is responding ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠so springily!"

He applauded. She clutched between her legs, wanting to sink to the floor. She couldn't. Sitting would pull the line tighter. Standing was the only way it hurt less.

"Keep going."

He pushed her in the back. She walked, weeping. Blood and semen dripped from her vaginal opening, tracing a path across the floor. The knotted line tied to the probe handle grew heavier as it soaked through with blood.

Halfway. The line began to go taut. She could go no farther. One more step and the probe would be ripped out — or her uterus would invert.

"I can't... the line... the line's too short..."

She looked back, begging. He made a show of checking his watch.

"Such a fuss. We need to stretch those muscles."

He walked over to the parallel bars and untied the line from the post. Was he letting her go? Hope flashed in Na-bi's eyes.

He finished untying it, then took the line in his own hand. And pulled it taut.

A tight snap.

"Nngh?!"

Her body lurched backward. The probe inside her stood up vertical.

"Come here. Walking toward me is the exercise."

He stepped backward, holding the line. She had to walk forward or be dragged. He snapped the cord like a whip.

A ripple ran along it. The wave traveled through the probe and slammed into the interior of her uterus.

A grind. A creak. A crunching of metal on flesh.

"Aaaaaah! Inside—it's inside—aaaaaah!"

The steel rod danced in her belly. She screamed like a madwoman, hopping in place. The vibration would not stop. He flicked the line, delighted.

"The uterine resonance is traveling all the way to my fingertips."

He reeled her in until she was right in front of him. She collapsed against his chest, gasping, certain it was over.

He lifted her chin. In his other hand was a traction belt.

"Walking is finished, so now we'll proceed with traction therapy."

He fastened the belt around her waist and clipped its ring to a line hanging from the ceiling pulley.

A ratcheting click. Another.

He pulled the pulley line. Her body rose into the air. Her toes left the floor.

"Wh... what?!"

She dangled in midair. The problem was the probe still buried in her uterus. The heavy knotted tube attached to it still hung down to the floor.

Gravity. Her body went up. The weight of the line tied to the probe went down.

A dull, dragging heaviness.

"Nnnngh—!"

The probe began to slide out, slowly. Scraping every fold of the inner wall. Stretching the vaginal opening. Pulling on the cervix.

"No... it's coming... it's coming oooout..."

She kicked in the air. She wanted to grab the line, but her wrists were bound; she couldn't reach it.

He stepped on the end of the knotted tube where it lay on the floor, and put his weight ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on it.

A hard press.

"Gyaaaaaaaaah!!!!!!"

The sensation of her uterus pouring downward. The probe forced its way down through the clenched mouth of the womb. The friction-heat of metal seared the mucosa.

"Hold on. Clench your sphincter and keep it in."

The order was pitiless. She strained with everything she had not to lose the probe sliding out of her. She clenched the vaginal muscles. The smooth metal rod slipped down anyway, indifferent.

A long, slow slide.

The blunt tip of the probe passed through the cervix. It was in the vaginal canal now. He did not stop. He stepped down harder on the line.

A pop.

The probe came out completely. At the same instant, red blood spattered from her vagina and soaked the floor.

"Hahk... haah..."

She went limp. An empty uterus. The hollowness and the raw ache were worse than any relief. Her insides felt as if they had been punched clean through.

He lifted the bloodied probe. The silver metal gleamed, coated red.

"Cleaned out nicely."

He released the pulley and set her on the floor. Her legs gave out and she sank down. She could not stand. The space between her thighs felt as if it were on fire.

"Now we need to fill the empty space."

He walked to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the display case on the wall. Arrayed inside were orthopedic implants of every size and shape — artificial joints, metal pins, and thick, heavy screws.

He selected the thickest and longest of them, its surface densely cut with screw threads: a femoral intramedullary nail.

"This time, shall we try building a framework with this?"

He tapped the nail against his palm as he approached. Na-bi scooted backward on her ass. It was thicker than the probe. Far harder, far colder. And those threads — if that went in, it would grind her flesh to pulp.

"Don't come... please don't come..."

Her plea scattered into empty air. He caught her ankle and dragged her toward him. Between her spread legs, the vaginal opening still pulsed and bled, and it filled his vision.

"Don't worry. There's plenty of lubricant."

He rolled the nail through the puddle of her blood and semen on the floor. Red and white seeped into the grooves between the silver threads.

"Now. Open up. The lower mouth."

He seated the tip of the nail against her vaginal opening, and pushed it in without hesitation.

A grinding crunch. Then the sound of flesh being sawed.

"Aaaaaaaaah. Hhk. Bleeegh—!!!!!!"

The screw threads cut into the vaginal walls as they went in. Pain beyond any comparison to the probe. It felt as if a saw were being drawn through her flesh.

He pushed by hand until it would go no farther, then picked up the hammer again.

"As expected. Bone is best when you hammer it in."

A ringing clang. He struck the head of the nail.

"Gyaaaaaah! Aah! Mmph. Blegh. Ghk—"

Her body convulsed. The nail smashed through the mouth of the uterus and burrowed in. A cold steel pillar pierced her center and settled into place.

He drove it all the way in, then smiled, satisfied.

"Perfect. It won't shift now."

He patted her cheek. Her eyes had already rolled back; she was seizing. Blood-foam spilled from her mouth. Torn scraps of flesh spilled from below.

The sun of the third day was going down. But four days of Na-bi's hell still remained.