Sweat glistened across Willow’s forehead even in the slight chill of the large room. Dr. Ward shook his head and slid his gloved fingers back out of her aching vaginal introitus. This motion sent the scrubbed and masked attendants into motion. Willow sucked in deep panting breaths as her muscles gave way to fatigue. “Doctor…I…,” she pushed out between breaths. The rapid staccato beat of the monitors fills the room as Dr. Ward walks up towards the head of the table. To Willow’s eyes, the surgical lamps above ring his head in a perverse halo of light as he approaches; while leaving his face washed in shadow all except for the blinding reflection off the lenses of his glasses. “Doctor…” she exhales again.

“Shush now my dear. You did the best you could, you pushed as hard as you could, but you’re tired and it's time you let me take over.” His words are soft yet lined with steel. He nods to the man standing just off to the side, holding a dark mask in his hands. He moves forward. A shadow fills Willow's vision and a dark shape descends. She hears a hissing noise coming from the mask. A sickly sweet smell pricks her nose.

Her eyes widened “No! Doctor… I can…do it!” Her words are caught and muffled by the mask being pressed down over her nose and mouth. Gloved hands cup her head.

“Ssssshhhh, just breath Willow. Just breath and relax. I promise I’ll take good care of you sweetie and you won’t feel a thing.” Her eyes widen farther, large lashes blinking rapidly as her lungs greedily taking deep breaths of the gas.

Around the room the other attendants have been rolling forward instrument trays, pulling back cloths, uncovering row after row of gleaming steel instruments, forceps, scalpels, retractors. Dr. Ward’s assistant steps forward and adjusts the lamps above the table, directing the bright light to shine down upon Willow's swollen womb. He then picks up the small basin of red-orange liquid and begins liberally spreading it across her belly, and mons with an applicator clenched in between the teeth of a pair of forceps.

“Breath Willow, nice and deep. Good girl, deep breaths for me. Just relax sweetie, just relax,” Dr. Ward continues as he watches her chest rise and fall in large rapid breaths, her eyes darting back and forth. “Breath, good girl, breath in the gas, don’t fight,” he continues as he watches her eyelids grow heavier and start to slump, the tension draining from her restrained limbs. Blue drapes are laid across her breasts and over her thighs, leaving her belly on full display under the lights. The man holding the mask rocks Willow’s head back, opening up her airway and nods back to Dr. Ward who smiles under his own surgical mask and takes up his position next to the middle of the table.

He takes in the red-orange skin before him, the gently sloping mound and he smiles to himself once more. His assistant lifts up a scalpel and passes it over to him. He takes it and pauses for a moment, he then traces a vertical line down from Willow’s belly button to nearly her vulva. The motion is slow, deliberate, he savors the moment. The now gentle, steady beeping of the instruments, the echoing pause between each beep. He breathes it all in. Then lowers the knife, the blades kisses flesh and skin parts easily in its wake.