Control 3: Private Practice

Control 3: Private Practice

To understand the background of this story, you might consider reading my other works “Control” and “Control 2: The College Years”.

“So, I heard you have a special procedure,” Mrs. Fitz said, making a rolling gesture with her hands. She was obviously hinting at something hidden, unspoken.

Michael leaned back in his chair, unsure precisely what she was referring to. “What do you mean?” he questioned. “All we do here at the Better You Clinic is on the up-and-up (pun intended, he thought to himself with an inward smile). All of our equipment is approved by the Food and Drug Administration, and all procedures that we here do are have been certified by the American Board of Plastic Surgery.”

Jennifer Fitz sighed, a little disappointed. “It’s just that…well…I have a friend who came here for some work, and…”

Awkward silence. “Go ahead,” he said, but had a feeling about where this conversation was headed.

She looked down at her hands, gathering courage. “I came here because I have lost so much weight that I have lots of empty, excess skin that needs to be removed,” Jennifer said, looking up at the doctor with a look of hope. “But one of the first places I lost the fat from was my breasts. I went from a 44DD to what I am now. I was measured for a new bra last week, and I am down to a 38B. My breasts are the two things I and my husband miss the most. I don’t fill out swimsuits anymore; they just look like a couple of half-empty old shriveled balloons hanging from my chest.”

“Then I take it that you are interested in breast implants?” he advanced. “We can place them on the same day when we remove the excess skin. It’s much better to do the two procedures together, rather than on separate times. It keeps the recovery time shorter.”

“The skin work needs to be done, but…”

Dr. Michael Wilkes, board-certified plastic surgeon, had no time for patients who had fortitude to come here and then lost their nerve when they tried to talk to him about their needs. “Out with it,” he demanded rather impatiently.

“Listen, my friend named Brittany Booth said you did some breast augmentation on her last year, and were able to do it without incisions or scarring. I want you to do the same to me.”

Michael groaned inwardly. He had been in private practice for a couple of years now, and had done the special procedure several times, with an agreement with the patients that they would be discreet about the specifics of the procedure itself. Word of mouth advertising sinks or sails a business, and as long as the customers of his work were happy, they were able to talk about it with friends, show off his handiwork, and hopefully get some referrals. But ‘Busty Brittany’ had gone too far. She not only wanted his work to make her much bigger than any implant was made for, and was happy to pay handsomely for her new oversized endowments, but had also been telling too many people that her enhancements were light as air, not causing any back strain, and that it was all done without an incision.

He had wanted to keep the number of special procedures to a minimum, but Busty was going overboard with telling her friends about it (and showing them her new fem-balloons as often as they asked to see them). Mrs. Fitz was not the first one in the last month to come see him, drop Brittany’s name as a reference, and request his off-the-books undertaking. “I’m listening,” he said, subdued.

“I don’t want them as big as hers,” Jennifer explained. “Just back to the original size, before the weight loss. Brittany actually let me touch her breasts, and I noticed that they weren’t heavy at all, like saline implants. In fact, they hung and bounced like air-filled balloons.” She leaned forward to stress her point. “I want ones just like them. Not as big, but that type.”

Michael shook his head. “Are you sure…”

“I can pay, in cash, up front, so to speak; it doesn’t matter the cost,” she countered, determined. “And I can keep a secret a hell of a lot better than Brittany ever could.”

He hesitated, and with a sigh, gave in. This is getting out of hand, he thought, edging up to his computer to check his surgery schedule. “When would you like to have this done?”

The excess skin removal part of the surgery went well. The drooping epidermis from under her arms and legs was gone. A tummy tuck completed as well. Jane, Michael’s surgical nurse, assisted him, while Betty the surgical scrub tech would hand him instruments and sponges, keeping track of everything used. The three had conferenced before the surgery, and had come up with the idea of a prank on the newest member of their team, Amy, the newly hired surgical nurse in training. Amy had yet to witness Michael’s special procedure, and the plan was to make her a big part of the event.

Jane had made sure that she, Betty, and Amy were all wearing surgical scrubs that were four times larger than needed. Jane told Amy that Dr. Wilkes always insisted that they wear oversized scrubs, just in case something happened during surgery. When Amy had asked why, Jane said that accidents can happen, and left it at that.

The patient was asleep, a tube into her trachea keeping her breathing. All the drapes had been removed, exposing the last part of Jennifer’s anatomy that was going to be worked on. “Calling for a time out,” Jane announced. “When we are about to begin a new part of the procedure, we always call a time out, to make sure we have everything we need before going on,” she explained to Amy.

“I know what a ‘time out’ is for, during surgery,” Amy responded, feeling demeaned. “But where are the surgical tools and the implants we are giving the patient?”

“There are no implants,” Betty said, hiding a smile under her surgical mask.

“But I thought she was getting breast augmentation,” Amy said. “She is too small to be needing a reduction, so she is obviously going bigger, which means implants.”

“Not this time,” Jane said nonchalantly, turning to Michael. “Ready?”

“Ready,” the surgeon replied, trying to keep from laughing. “Let’s blow her up and see if she floats.”

Jane leaned over to Amy. “Watch carefully, but don’t do anything to break his concentration. That’s when accidents can happen.”

Michael closed his eyes. He had been perfecting his special power for a few years now, and had only had one lapse in his control since graduating from med school. It was recently that he had reunited with his middle school first love, Suzie, and that incident had left the two of them permanently scarred, but they had laughed about it later. Suzie had to be brought to the clinic later that night to get her back to her usual size, and to be able to walk without hovering, but had been a great sport through it all.

As he concentrated, he held his breath and waited for the sign that his power was activating. A slight tingle in his forehead started on command, and he opened his eyes to begin the next phase. “All set,” he announced.

Slowly, Jennifer’s breasts started to rise. Like a pair of helium balloons on the nozzle of a tank, they rose proudly, twin towers inflating, limp skin stretching and filling.  Just as they reached the desired size, Amy’s eyes flew wide. “Holy shit!” she exclaimed, pointing. “Her boobs are blowing up like a couple of blimps! How is that happening?”

Michael shot a fiery glance at the nurse in training, his eyes out of focus, trance-like. “Oh no!” Jane said loudly, in mock anger. “You broke his concentration. You don’t know what you’ve done!”

Jennifer’s chest suddenly began to inflate faster. Betty grabbed Michael’s arm. “Doctor, you need to make it stop!” she shouted. “You don’t want to lose control, and have it happen again!”

“Again? What do you mean?” Amy asked, scared. ” What happened before?”

“The reason we always wear loose clothing around here, when Doctor Wilkes in doing surgery.” Jane said.

“What do you mean..,” Amy’s question was cut short. Her chest began to tingle, like dozens of tiny fingers were touching her at the same time across her breasts. She gasped at the sensation, and grabbed her boobs through her baggy scrub top, feeling the beginning of their expansion.

“Too late!” Betty yelped. Amy turned to her, noticing Betty’s chest as it surged forward.  Jane’s breasts began to inflate as well. “When someone disturbs him while he is concentrating on the patient, we ALL start blowing up!” Betty said in a high, squeaky voice.

Amy’s small bra was being overcrowded quickly as she and the other two women grew rapidly. “Make it stop!” she demanded as her boobs passed F-cup size, causing her bra to snap.

“This is why I told you NOT to wear a bra,” Jane said, her scrub top already reaching capacity. Breast flesh was pushing out of the neck hole of the scrub top and into her chin. Amy was growing faster than the others. “You had better hold onto something!” Jane said.

“Hold onto something? What for?” Amy screamed, her scrub top coming untucked as her breasts rose up into her face. That was when her feet left the floor. “Whoa!” she yelped, arms flailing, trying to grab the edge of the surgical table as she floated up, and missed. “Help me!”

In her panic, Amy hadn’t noticed that the patient’s inflation had stopped at a size only a little bigger than planned, and that the other two women had also ceased blowing up. She continued screaming, arms and legs flailing in the empty air, until her head gently connected to the ceiling of the surgical suite. Her beachball-sized breasts pushed into her face. “I don’t want to be a helium balloon! Get me down!”

All three conscious people in the room burst into laughter. Jane and Betty were already shrinking back to normal, and the patient deflated to her requested DD size. Michael was laughing so hard that he started crying, while watching Amy kick her feet in the air above him. “Alright, doctor” Jane said with a snicker. “You should bring her down now.”

“If you insist,” Michael said, calming his mirth. Shifting his focus, he concentrated on the floating nurse and issued a mental command. Slowly she began to deflate and descend, her feet soon reconnecting with the floor. “Why did you do that?” Amy snapped angrily.

Jane smiled big, removing her surgical mask. “We do that to all of our new employees,” she said, suppressing another giggle. “It’s sort of an initiation. Welcome to the club.”

“And if you ever tell anyone about this, about what I can do,” Michael said, a note of mock seriousness in his voice, “I will do it again, making you blow up in public and let you float away, never to be found. Understand?”

Amy’s breathing was calming. “I swear I will never tell!”

A moment of uncomfortable silence went between the two. Michael burst into laughter again. “I’m just messing with you!” he blurted, Jane and Betty joining him.

“But seriously, if you tell anyone, I will inflate you again and leave you that way permanently!”

Amy swallowed nervously. “But, what if I kinda liked it?” she asked, placing her hands on her still slightly inflated boobs.

Jane put her arm around Amy’s shoulder. “Then you will fit in here just fine.”