Body Parts

by Adrianna Dane

  BODY PARTS

  Adrianna Dane

  www.loose-id.com

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id® e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  Body Parts

  Adrianna Dane

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by

  Loose Id LLC

  1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924

  Carson City NV 89701-1215

  www.loose-id.com

  Copyright © January 2008 by Adrianna Dane

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

  ISBN 978-1-59632-611-8

  Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

  Printed in the United States of America

  Editor: Sherri Lynn

  Cover Artist: April Martinez

  He watched her from a distance.

  It was as though she became a living essential

  of his garden as she twirled in circles,

  moonlight drifting light and shadow across her body…

  Chapter One

  Meet me in my office at nine a.m. tomorrow. We need to discuss the Ransom Project. Those were the e-mailed words that had Korrie hunting for her father’s favorite bourbon. Why would Erik Carter, chairman of the board for the Morgan Institute, want to discuss anything about the Ransom Project with her? That project was ripped out of her hands and dropped into Paul Cathcart’s eager arms with little warning the moment the institute was granted rights to the Ransom estate. The unexpected e-mail had rocked her world at five o’clock, just before she left the office, and would most likely keep it slanted until the meeting tomorrow morning.

  Korrie walked into her living room and veered over to the bookcase. She pulled down the thick yellow envelope hidden behind the heavy reference books. This was one thing that Paul Cathcart did not have ‑‑ the photographed pages from Sheba Ransom’s journal. It was the one part of her relationship with her father that Paul had been unable to mangle.

  Envelope in hand, Korrie pushed toward the liquor cabinet and poured herself a measure of the aged Kentucky hand-mashed bourbon, no ice. To her father’s way of thinking there was no other drink more pleasing than pure bourbon whiskey distilled in Kentucky. He’d taught her early on to appreciate the pure fiery liquid velvet and she rarely drank anything else. Certainly not on a night like tonight.

  Dropping onto the sofa, she curled her legs beneath her. Holding the glass up to the light, she admired the shimmering golden liquid as she turned the glass.

  How a thing is made, its basic core, is the important thing, Korrie. That’s what gives it strength to last, and often its unique presence. Have the patience to do it right the first time, and don’t cut corners. Her father’s words had always stuck with her. He’d been exacting in his research work, dedicated to the institute, yet a patient and loving father.

  No one understands my work like you, Korrie. Not even your mother when she was alive. His words haunted her as they always would because, in the end, she had failed him when he needed her most.

  A pang of regret gripped her chest. The day Paul Cathcart walked into their lives changed everything. Paul was a man without principle and he’d torn away Korrie’s one chance to secure her father’s dream of exploring the foundation of the Ransom experiments.

  She brought the glass to her lips and downed the contents in one swallow. The smooth, fiery liquid trickled along her throat, into her empty stomach, the molten heat spreading throughout her body. She closed her eyes, allowing it to have its way, then set the empty glass back down on the coffee table and pulled the old black-and-white photos from the envelope. Her father had carefully numbered each image so they could be kept in order.

  She was sixteen the night her father first shared their existence with her.

  You’re too young to understand what these mean now, he’d said. In case something should happen to me, you need to know they exist.

  Forbidden, taboo documents. What did they contain? Why was her father’s attitude so mysterious? It wasn’t until a year later, on a night when a swirling, white blizzard pressed in on the house and the brunt of the hammering wind rattled the windows, keeping her father stranded at the lab, that she discovered their secret. Sitting cross-legged before the fire in his den, she was enthralled by the words of Sheba Ransom, and a hunger began to gnaw at her that she had never been able to quench.

  That was the night she fell in love with Athan ‑‑ a man, a creation, she had no hope of ever meeting.

  Carefully she picked up the first photo, leaned back against the cushions, and immersed herself in the erotically stimulating glimpse of Sheba Ransom’s personal life once again.

  March 21, 1939

  Journal of Dr. Sheba Ransom

  Dawn is breaking and I am unable to sleep as I recall the thrill of last night and the anticipation as Cornelius and I lustfully consummated the beginning of our experiment. Cornelius remains in the lab. He has completed the necessary repairs to the internal organs and prepped the body. He is going over the supplies delivered yesterday afternoon for the hundredth time to be certain everything is in order and that nothing is missing. I needed a moment away to absorb what we have begun and prepare myself. When I return, we will complete the final merging of the two parts so critical to the success of the experiment.

  I must say, the body we have acquired for the project is quite beautiful. I never realized what a work of art was until I saw him stretched out on the table in the lab with the moonlight shining through the window, outlining his flawless, still features. At the time Cornelius first proposed this project, I must admit I was leery. I don’t want another Frankenstein debacle, and I worry that is exactly what could occur. We are taking a huge chance with both our careers. The thugs who brought him to us are not the most reliable of men, but in this instance we must use the resources available. I can only hope they will not attempt to blackmail us at some future date.

  As I first looked at him, I thought that he bore the strikingly handsome lines of an angel in repose, and I could not help but feel the excitement build inside me at the potential of what could be accomplished with our success.

  My heart hammered loudly as I greedily studied the sheathed, inanimate body. As I slowly revealed the shrouded form, a shiver of anticipation raced along my spine because deep down I knew my desire to see this gorgeous creature animate once more was not fully clinical.

  Cornelius said the funeral director was easily bribable. The man will enjoy the luxurious comforts our generous payment can buy him.

  The young man was a prostitute; his disappearance will go unchallenged. The director assured Cornelius that his pimp wanted the cheapest and most expedient way of getting rid of this beautiful, yet no longer viable, liability. He couldn’t have cared less what happened to him as long as he didn’t have to pay for the disposal.

  When I first touched the cold flesh and envisioned it reinfused with warm, vibrant animation, the challenge excited me. I wanted to see his eyes open and to have him acknowledge us as his creators. But t
here was more to it than that.

  In that earlier moment in the laboratory, surprisingly I felt my own tendrils of sexual energy unfurl and reach out to him. My heat to his cold. I wanted to infuse him with my power, and the feelings erupted from more than scientific curiosity. My cunt dripped with the juices of excited arousal and expectancy at what I envision for his future ‑‑ our future.

  I have studied long and hard in my chosen field just for a moment such as this. I have the knowledge of magic and chemistry. And Cornelius holds the knowledge and skillful prowess to make this being into a sum of all its perfect parts. Each one seamlessly melded into the whole.

  The man who had once been housed inside the vessel lives no longer. I remembered thinking it was a shame as I studied the long, ugly slash running horizontally across his abdomen, knowing he had been the victim of violence. He possessed no relatives that anyone knew of. There would be no one to miss him, to come searching for him, which made him a perfect specimen.

  With the fresh intelligence of a new brain that was delivered this evening ‑‑ a brilliant one, as we knew its donor ‑‑ he will be faultless.

  He was so pale without that spark of energy that exists in the living. A gorgeous slab of clay waiting to be molded and brought to life. Would this body hold any of the memories of the young whore, even with the new core of energy housed inside his head to drive his actions? Would a new heart of passion be created blending the body with the brain?

  The excitement built inside me like nothing I have ever known before.

  Youth. How much we all desire it. Wish to retain in. He will be our study model. He will be our creation. And if we are successful he will be our claim to fame ‑‑ our moment in the sun before mortality tears us away.

  Odd as it seems, I didn’t want to leave him alone. I have a feeling he will become a significant part of our lives, beyond the experiment itself, and I am eager to begin.

  Even the coldness of death could not stop me from stroking the beautiful flesh of his still form. Like a statue in a museum one finds too beautiful not to touch. To feel the lines and crevices of stunning architecture that are molded to perfection. It is my belief that every object has energy and even in death this beautiful one created an aura of his own. How bright he will be when reanimated.

  His hair was thick, rich, and dark, with silky curls that draped to his shoulders. Too bad it had to be completely shaved in preparation for the transplant. But I’m confident it will grow back thicker and more luxuriant than ever.

  I want to know the color of his eyes, but not yet. Not while death still imprisons him. It will be enough when he opens them after being revived. There will be a different knowledge in them when that occurs.

  His lips are full and sensual and I find myself wondering how he has used his mouth and tongue to pleasure. Immediately my body heated more intensely at the thought of lips like his pleasuring me.

  He would undoubtedly have a very experienced touch. He had been trained to give pleasure and the idea intrigues me to know a man such as this one intimately. His penis lay flaccid and lifeless, but by the look of it, when it is brought to rigid life it will embrace a worthy presence all its own. How many people had he pleasured with that enticing instrument of passion?

  His chest is broad and powerful, with a fine pelting of dark, curling hairs, and I couldn’t help stroking it, visualizing the deep rise and fall of his breaths in the throes of passion. Sweat lingering on his skin. Moisture I would eagerly lick from his body. His arms are thickly defined with ropy muscles.

  I want to see desire in his eyes when they open. Passion for life. There is so much promise, so much potential.

  Cornelius and I have been together a long time. We love each other in our way, but being scientists, we have satisfied our curiosity and adventured into many unusual areas, including sexual freedom, seeking the purity of sexual passion, that energy that intricately drives our being. We have experimented with many types of human interaction and found them satisfying, if not life changing. But I have a feeling this time it will be different.

  Something tells me I stand at the brink of a momentous event. With Cornelius’s skill as a physician and surgeon, and my knowledge of alchemy and the energy of my magic, we will create a being no one has ever seen the likes of. And history will remember our efforts.

  My pussy convulsed at the anticipated fruition of our monumental task. Regretfully I replaced the sheet over our precious creature as I heard footsteps. Cornelius returned to the lab carrying a large glass jar carefully balanced between his hands. We stared at each other for long moments as the electricity of the impending project sparked between us.

  After so many years together we have that way of communicating without speaking, as long-time couples do. I saw the same desire and excitement building in his eyes. He turned away and carefully placed the container on the shelf.

  “We’re almost ready,” he said in his gruff voice. His excitement was visible ‑‑ I could see it clearly in the tent of his trousers.

  “We must wait for the correct signs,” I vaguely responded as I unbuttoned my white lab coat and let it drop to the stone floor. His eyes were on me, watching me intently. I could see the sexual energy building in his dilated gaze.

  My own breathing rasped in my chest, the excitement tightening my nipples to hard, needy peaks beneath my blouse. I pulled at the closure of my skirt and pushed it down, then my blouse, followed by my slip. I was left standing in my white, serviceable bra, cotton panties, garter belt, and stockings. I’d never been one to care much for fashion. It’s the flesh that’s important, the mind, and how we use them both. And right at that instant I knew exactly how I wanted to use mine.

  “We’re going to do it,” he said as he unbuttoned his own white coat and then proceeded to remove the remainder of his clothing.

  I unfastened the garters, placed my foot on a step stool nearby, and rolled each silk stocking down my leg. I wiggled my hips enticingly as I removed my panties, turned my back on him as I unhooked my bra, easing it down my shoulders, like a stripper in one of the decadent clubs we had snuck into when we were in Europe. I turned back still holding it over my aroused breasts and looked at him with my most brazen expression ‑‑ one practiced just for him. And then I released the bra and let it fall to the floor.

  Cornelius likes a good show before the grand finale. It makes him so very hot and amazingly hard. He has the stamina of a stallion and can fuck for hours. I saw it in his eyes ‑‑ he wanted it fast and hard tonight. We were going to baptize the inception of our project. Our combined sexual magic would infuse us with certainty of success.

  He watched me as I straightened, flaunting my body before him. He was gloriously naked, his cock at stunning full attention, rock hard, gleaming with pre-ejaculate. I felt my cunt clench at knowing how he would fill me, and the lust spread like lightning through the rest of my body.

  We met at the center of the room. I love when he gets that excited, and it usually only occurs when a major project is about to begin. He truly sizzles with electricity at those times. Just like tonight.

  He lifted me into his arms and I anchored my legs around his hips. My labia lips spread and his penis shoved between them. It was like a hot poker branding me as he carried me to a vacant table and settled me upon it.

  “Do you want to suck me first?” he growled against my ear as he nipped and licked his way along the curve. He knows how that drives me crazy. But then after so many years of marriage how could he not know every inch of my flesh, or what arouses me most?

  I licked my lips, but shook my head. “Not now. I’m too needy and I require some relief. I need to feel your cock inside me. Do it hard, Cornelius. You know what I want.” And he always did.

  He shoved me back onto the metal table and spread my legs wide. He pulled me close to the edge and clamped my feet into the brackets at the sides. I could feel the edge of the table beneath my buttocks, felt my cream dripping. And then his cock penetrated me to
the root. I screamed, overwhelmed with lust as he drove into me completely, retreated, and drove in again, hammering at my vagina, filling me, stretching me.

  I loved it, but tonight it seemed to drive right through me more so than usual. Was it because I was so excited by him or the impending project? Or maybe a little of both? It didn’t matter.

  I gripped the edges of the table tightly as he bombarded me with sensations. I arched up, pulling him deeper. My body thrashed with pleasure as he came into me again and again. I felt my energy rise and mingle with his.

  He rubbed at my clitoris, circled and pressed the stiffened bud. But I didn’t want to come yet, not just yet. I tried to hold back, to stem the rising tide as the storm of need raged through me.

  Cornelius loves the anticipation of impending climax every bit as much as the climax itself, maybe even more so. It is his way to push right to the edge of sanity, to bring us to that primal place of pulsing, primitive, shattering need.

  It is that moment when my nails dig deep into his flesh and rip through the epidermic layers of tissue. It is that roaring demand for satisfaction, only then will he allow himself to succumb.

  He likes the pain; he says it heightens the orgasm. We have played with that knowledge over the years, and have at times taken it to the very edge of our destruction.

  But not tonight. Tonight he pounds into me with the fanaticism of primitive man and I respond on that same primeval level. Our grunts and groans, and the squishing of our bodies, are the only sounds that echo in the laboratory. Time and time again without surcease. We are beings surrounded by our sexual energy, and I can almost feel it snap and sizzle in the air throughout the room.

  More, I thought, more, we must have more. And I rose once again to consume his thick cock as he battered into me deeply. I felt his balls slap against my ass. I undulated against him, my pants of lust loud to my ears as I pushed him harder. My juices gushed all around him. I was burning up like a pool of oil struck with a match, and I felt I could go on forever in this passionate dance.