House Call, Part 2: Daughter of El Jefe (preg, semi-cons, snuff, MF) This story is a continuation of "House Call". Like the previous installment, it contains graphic fantasy violence against a pregnant woman and her unborn child. I welcome your comments and I thank God for the inspiration. House Call, Part 2: Daughter of El Jefe The trip had begun the day before, when El Jefe invited the border town's travelling midwife to come visit. This invitation could not be denied, of course, and the doctor had prepared himself for the worst. But El Jefe did not call the doctor to his death. Instead, the leader of the area's largest drug syndicate had a job for him. The light dimmed as the blindfolded doctor entred the doorway. The door closed, and El Jefe's men removed the blindfold. The small room was illuminated only by the light from the cracks in the stone walls. He faced a door mounted in the rock. "You go in there," one man said in the rough tone of someone whose fists usually do the talking. The gray-haired doctor turned the knob and pulled, but the door did not open. The men behind him laughed with a grunt. Then, the doctor saw that the door was locked from the outside. He hesitated for the first time, then turned the lock and opened the door. Behind it lay a dark hallway and a kerosene lamp. The doctor took a step, but was restrained by a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Here," said the talkative guard, handing him a Zippo lighter. The doctor took it, noticing the hand-engraved picture of a fighting rooster poised for the kill. This would be the object El Jefe had mentioned. Its owner was now a corpse, and had no further use for it. The big man, now tired of talking, pushed the old man into the dark hall. The doctor had just enough time to light the lighter before the door closed behind him. He lit the lamp, and in its flickering light, he saw a black doctor's bag. As before, it would contain the tools he would need. The hallway led to a stone stairway, which disappeared down into the shadows. Picking up the instrument bag, the doctor walked down the steep, narrow stairs to complete the task he had been assigned. At the bottom of the staircase, the floor consisted of large, flat stones, separated by a finger's width. The air coming from the gap was stale, and smelled of human waste. As he advanced, he saw that the path was lined with bars. They divided the space into four cells on each side. At the end of the hallway was another wooden door. Light was shining from around the door's frame. The doctor considered knocking, but instead stared for a moment into the bright flame of the lantern. Then, he pushed open the door. With his eyes adjusted to the light, the doctor was able to see the room. The stone path drain continued to the far side. In the center of the room, a bare light bulb hung from a frayed cord that emerged from a crack in the low ceiling. On either side of the drain were two stone altars. The altar on the right was a simple square, with chains bolted to the top and bottom corners. The altar on the left was a different design, and it was occupied. This altar was built in the shape of a Y, with the two branches pointing toward the center of the room. The woman was laying on the altar, with her hips at the junction and her legs chained to the branches. The shape of the altar elevated her head and legs, giving the appearance of a Mayan version of an obstetrician's exam table. The doctor looked at the other altar again, and realized where he was. This was a special torture chamber, for couples. The other altar was for the husband, and each victim could watch as the other was violated. But the women's altar, in particular, was perfectly designed for this doctor's intentions. The doctor put out the kerosene lamp, set it down with the doctor's bag, and turned to the woman. She had thick black hair, cut very short, as if to disguise her silhouette. She was asleep, and her face bore remnants of dark makeup that had been used to mask her Cuban skin. But nothing could hide her pregnant belly. Someone had draped a dirty sheet across her body. He decided to leave the sheet in place, for the moment, as he turned back to the bag the men had left for him. He found a vial of smelling salts, cracked it, and waved it under the pregnant woman's nose. She woke with a start and immediately tried to sit up. The chains slammed her back to the cold stone, and she cursed roughly. Finally, she noticed the doctor watching her. "Who the hell are you?" she asked, with a rough border town accent to her Spanish. The doctor recognized the accent as the same rough edged speech that El Jefe used when commanding his men. "I work for your father," the doctor replied. "Bullshit," she shot back automatically. Then, as her head cleared, she looked at him again. "You're his pussy doctor, aren't you? The one that takes care of his women." She sneered each time she said "his". The doctor had seldom seen anyone with such blatant disrespect for the man who held life and death in his hands across the region, and he was starting to understand why she was to meet such a terrible fate. "You kill his babies," she spat. "You don't have much respect for him, do you?" "Respect? For that fucker? To the devil with him! Ricardo is going to kick his ass, and then you bastards will all be screwed." "Your father told me to show you this," the doctor replied. The woman turned away defiantly as he pulled the lighter from his pocket. She stared at the wall until he flicked the lighter open. When she saw what he was holding, her eyes widened. "Where the fuck did you get that?" "Your father said you would know where it came from." "I don't know what you're talking about, fucker." But her eyes told him otherwise. "I think it means that your lover is not going to save you, senorita." "Bastard! He's lying! Ricardo is going to cut your head off and piss down your throat, you baby killer!" The doctor turned back to his bag. It was time to carry out El Jefe's instructions. "What the fuck are you doing? Get me out of here you mother fucking baby killer!" He ignored her profanities as he examined the tools. They weren't medical instruments, exactly, but they suited the purpose perfectly. He reached into the bag and turned back to the woman. Her eyes widened again at the sight of the leather-handled hunting knife in his hand. "Fuck! You're not going to take my baby, damn you!" She began straining against the chains, but previous struggles had left her skin raw, and the pain made her stop. "My dear, if it is any consolation, you will soon join your baby in God's arms." "Fuck God! Get these chains off me! You're not going to carve me up like you did your wife, dammit!" The doctor stopped, and it was his turn to have his eyes go wide. The girl's face froze for a moment, but she continued. "You didn't think he knew? How you killed her, her and the baby and the other girl, and you had to run away to Mexico? You are fucking stupid! What the hell are you smiling about?" "I hadn't thought about that night for a long time, senorita. Your father is wise. You should have respected his wishes. And with that, the doctor walked to the woman, pulled off the dirty blanket, and threw it on the floor. She had been a big girl before she got pregnant, and her large breasts lolled to her sides, heavy with milk. Pink stretch marks creeped up the light, creamy skin, and her areolas were large and dark. More stretch marks drew a picture of beauty on her belly, tracing the expectant mother's curves. She used to shave her pussy, but her belly was in the way now, and a couple of months' worth of dark black fur lightly covered her labia. In the lithotomy position, her lips spread open to show the pink flesh inside. Her perineum was red, irritated by unwiped urine and semen from multiple rapes by her captors. Below that, dried feces caked her bottom and the crotch of the altar, down to the drain in the rock floor. "You were not treated with respect. I can not give you your freedom, but you will have my respect as you die." The doctor's words were greeted by another stream of profanity, which he ignored. Instead, he opened the box of baby wipes tucked in the doctor's bag, and gently cleaned her body, starting at her clitoris. She yelled at his touch, and tried again to work her way out of her chains, but soon she stopped fighting and kept up the stream of curses. "How did you kill her?" she asked as he gently spread her apart to reveal her urethra and her vaginal entrance. "She died in childbirth," he replied, and started wiping away the crusts around her anus. She whimpered a bit as he cleaned the raw skin. "She had placentia previa, but we didn't know." After he had thoroughly cleaned her bottom, he picked up the sheet and used it to cover the shit-stained altar. Then, he said, "I'm going to give you an internal exam now, so you will know if your baby was ready to be born." She lay still as he spread her again, and slid a bare finger into her vagina. His careful attention had done its job, as she was wet from the stimulation. Sliding another finger inside her, he reached for her cervix. "You are five centimeters dialated, senorita. Your baby is head first and ready to be born. I am sorry for what must happen now." That was the only lie he had told her, and the last one she would ever hear. "What is paleta previous?" she asked, incongruously. Hre face was blank now, the anger replaced with a combination of fear and understanding. "Placentia previa is when the placenta, the pad that connects the baby to the mother, is too close to the cervix. It tries to be born first, and it tears. As soon as the baby is out of the birth canal, the torn spot opens up, and the mother bleeds to death from her vagina. As he spoke, the doctor moved to the woman's side. He placed his left hand at the fundus of her uterus, jsut below her rib cage. He looked at the woman's expression. She still had a blank look, and she hadn't heard much of his explanation. "You do not have placentia previa, senorita. Your baby would have been born today or tomorrow, perfectly healthy." He laid the knife on the back of his hand, and thrust it forward. It entered her body just under her sternum, piercing her diaphragm, angling down into her chest cavity. The girl gasped and her body bucked, pushing the knife in to its hilt, but the short blade didn't reach her heart. The doctor pulled the knife back out, and the air in her pierced lung sprayed out through the wound and across the doctor's clothes. She struggled against the pain to catch her breath. After a moment, the doctor reached two fingers of his left hand into the hole. She screamed, a raspy, struggled breath. He pushed into the girl's abdomen, feeling her liver, then hooked his fingers inter her peritoneum and lifted. Her back arched and she bucked again, and he lost his grip on the slippery tissue. "Try to be still. This will be over soon," he told her. She found the words to curse his mother, but her thoughts were consumed by the pain, and the fear of her death. She had shown no honor to her father, or to any man, not even her dead boyfriend. Not even to God, and now she was afraid. The doctor grabbed the skin and muscle again with two fingers, pulled up, and sliced vertically through the flap. This gave him the start he needed to finish the Caesarean section. Adjusting his position, he slid his left hand into the gash, and inserted the knife from the top. Feeling carefully with the hand inside her body, he used a sawing motion to cut along the midline, around the curve of her uterus. He cut to the right of her belly button, poking out from pregnancy, then rejoined her midline at her very light linea negra. His right hand with the knife followed his left hand as it traced her uterus, then found her pelvic bone. He wondered why he hadn't found her bladder first, then realized that she probably hadn't had anything to drink since she the last time she was raped. As the cut edges of her belly skin oozed blood, the doctor reached into his bag, and pulled out a bottle of water. He put it to her lips, and poured a little bit into her mouth. She gagged, then swallowed. He gave her another drink, then another. Outside her line of sight, the doctor could see her stomach, tucked behind the top of her uterus, moving gently as the cool water found its way down her esophagus. As he watched, the uterus began to change shape. It pulled away from her stomach, shortening in length. Her contraction was powerful, as her body tried to deliver the baby before death took over. The young woman moaned, then screamed as the cramping of her contraction was amplified by the cut edges of skin, muscle, and yellow fat. The final moments were at hand. The doctor moved back between her legs. Her cunt was swollen, preparing to give birth. Still holding the knife in his right hand, the man bent over and to his surprise, kissed her protruding clitoris. The girl jumped in surprise, then moaned again at the strange motion of her exposed organs. With his left hand, the doctor entered her birth canal, loosened further by her surging hormones, first with two fingers, then with two more, and finally with his entire hand. Her bag of waters bulged into her vagina, and as he pushed it out of the way. he felt it burst around his hand. The amniotic fluid seeped around his arm and dripped on the sheet. It was clear and sweet smelling, both signs of an impending healthy delivery. Now, the doctor began moving his arm with gentle thrusts. He pushed into her, spreading his fingers around the baby's soft head, feeling the thin baby hair. The mother was over 7 centimeters dilated now, with her cervix almost fully effaced, and it would only take two or three more strong contractions before the baby would crown, and then be delivered. But his instructions were clear. The baby would not be born. As the expectant mother's final contraction approached, the doctor thrust into her with more and more force. Her clitoris rose red and hard, with no need for direct stimulation. Her exposed uterus shook each time the doctor's hand pushed the baby's head. The amniotic fluid coated her cunt lips, and soon the doctor was able to pull his hand completely out of her vagina and then push his fist right back in, as easily as if he were making love with a freshly deflowered virgin. Her moans of pain changed, as the extreme stimulation overloaded her senses, and brought her closer and closer to her final climax. She didn't notice the tip of the knife dimpling the skin just below her anus. All she could sense was the rhythm of the doctor's thrusts, the raw, bleeding edges of her skin, and the soft motion of her uterus over her intestines. Her uterus, which was changing again, tightening. Her moans changed again, and the doctor looked up from his work. "Open your eyes!" he commanded, still pushing his fist into her cunt. "See yourself!" Her eyes flew open, and she was silent for a moment at the sight of her own body's functions, hidden from her until now. Her brown liver on one side, her pink stomach on the other, a coil of gray large intestine, and on top of it all, her deep red uterus, holding the child she had planned to love. She took a deep breath, as she watched the organ contract like a tomato squeezed by an invisible hand. Her body shook in orgasm. As the baby's head moved down into the birth canal, the doctor thrust the knife into the pad of fat between the mother's rectum and her spine. At first, she didn't react, so intense was the orgasm and contraction, and the feeling of new life moving closer to its birth. But when the doctor began sawing through her tissues, her breath came out in a ragged scream, more intense than anything she had ever experienced. The knife moved around her pelvic opening, scraping her pelvis as the doctor avoided cutting into the delicate flesh of her rectum. First right, then up along the crease of her mons. Now, when the doctor pushed with his left hand, her pussy sank into her abdomen. He pulled out his hand, and slid it through the gash in her belly, through the fat and muscle. Her body had already turned some of the water into urine, he noticed, as he pushed past her bladder to grasp her vagina from the outside. Blood poured onto the sheet and into the stone drain as the doctor continued his cut. Guided by the hand inside her body, he cut through her mons. The girl's struggles were becoming more sudued as shock delivered her from pain, replacing it with the memory of her last orgasm. In a few seconds, the cut was extended down the left side of her pussy, then across to complete the circle below her anus. She was breathing fast and shallow as the doctor walked around her limp leg and back to her side. Setting the knife on her chest, between her dangling breasts, he reached in with both hands and picked up the uterus. It was no longer tight with contraction, but loose, like a balloon with no air. He cradled the organ to his chest with his left hand, then picked up the knife. As the dying baby moved slowing inside the pink bag, he cut away the two large ligaments holding the bag to the mother's body. He cut the uterine veins, and the blood began pouring out. He cut the remaining arteries, nerves, and connective tissue. Then, he laid the package on the mother's chest. "Feel your baby move. She loves you, Senora. Now, you will both die." As tears filled the mother's face, the doctor pulled up the end of the uterus, and cut between her vagina and her anus, severing the last connection between the mother and the baby. Then, he turned the screw in the chain holding the mother's hand, freeing it, and laid her hand across the pink bag, now still. Gently moving the baby out of the way, he took the knife and began cutting its mother's diaphragm away from her rib cage, from his left to his right. He reached inside with his left hand and held her beating heart for a long moment. He looked into the girl's eyes, and saw that the fear for her soul was gone. She had been purified, and now she was filled with love. Love for her dead baby, her dead boyfriend, herself soon to die. She caught the doctor's eyes, and he could see that she loved him for what he had done for her, for her baby. The heart beat slowly, as her blood pressure fell. The doctor began to squeeze the organ with his left hand, hard and fast, and the girl's eyes flickered open. Beyond pain, he opned her mouth, and with no breath from her collapsed lungs, mouthed her last words. "Gracias," she said. The doctor reached into her chest with the knife in his right hand. "Vaya con Dios," he said to her. Then, he pulled on her heart, bringing one more convulsive movement from her ruined body. With a sawing motion, he cut through the veins, arteries, and muscle to free her heart from her chest. The last of her blood poured into her rib cage, and the light disappeared from her open eyes. The doctor was gone by the time Ricardo's father and his men arrived the next morning. There were no instruments, no knives, just a bloody lighter with a picture of a fighting cock engraved on its front. It lay in the empty abdomen of a young woman on a stone altar. Her belly was opened to the air, her internal organs had been cleaned out, and the abdominal cavity had been washed clean of blood. She looked like a pig after the slaughter, ready to be cut into portions and sold in the market. Next to the lighter, in the eviscerated corpse, was the young woman's severed heart. Her remaining organs lay in a neat pile on the floor between her legs. On the other altar, a whitish pink bag lay in a pool of dried blood. Attached to it by a short tube of flesh was a bit of fur, easily recognizable as a woman's soft cunt. As several of his men turned and vomited, the man known simply as El del Norte smiled. Order had been restored. Nobody would dare to stray outside their place again. Or at least, if they did, they would know what to expect. Next chapter: El del Norte has a task that requires the Doctor's unique obstetric skills. d udet