Her Contract Enatails Ch. 02

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The transformation from woman to mermaid begins in earnest.
8.6k words
4.48
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Part 2 of the 4 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 07/15/2013
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Carla was surprised by the view of the building as the car pulled to a stop with the sound of gravel crunching beneath the wheels. Although she had to admit that she would have been at a loss to describe what she expected the clinic in which she would be operated upon might look like, the red brick house she saw through the window looked to her more like something from a costume drama than a location at which a woman might be able to have herself transformed into a mermaid. As if the whole idea of what awaited her was not strange enough, she now found her mind struggling to cope with the unfamiliar surroundings of an English country house at the same time.

She climbed the steps to the main doors of the building in something of a daze, not aware for a moment of Henry dutifully hefting her bags out of the car behind her. Carla drifted into the smart, but understated hallway that served as the entrance and reception without noticing the woman sitting at a desk and smiling at her in a welcoming manner. Instead she walked straight past and found herself drawn to the large French windows at the very back of the hall, where the afternoon light was streaming in through the glass.

Henry watched her progress for a moment before turning to the woman behind the desk with an apologetic smile on his face.

"Sorry," he leaned forward to read the woman's name badge, "Gillian. She's a bit distracted, what with all of the stuff you do here...if you know what I mean."

"Of course," Gillian nodded, her thick accent almost baffling Henry after the time he had spent on the other side of the Atlantic, "you have the papers?"

"Right here," Henry handed them across the desk.

"Thank you," she looked away for a few seconds, tapping on the keys of the computer set to one side of the desk. "Ms Smith will be allocated a room in another wing of the house to yourself, I hope that will not be a problem?"

"No," Henry shook his great head, "she'll be okay without me breathing down her neck. All I need to know is where there's a decent boozer around here."

"I hear that the Green Knight is thought of very highly by the staff here," Gillian seemed amused by the mismatch between Henry's appearance and character, "just a few minutes' walk down the lane."

"So long as they have some proper beer," Henry waved a hand to excuse himself as he turned to make his way towards Carla. "I've had it up to here with that fizzy piss they drink on the other side of the pond."

All the time they had been talking, Carla was silent and still as she stared out of the windows and across the perfectly flat lawns that stretched out behind the house. At first she had simply been interested in seeing what lay beyond the main building, but she had quickly laid eyes upon a sight that occupied her attention and set her heart racing.

Beneath a stand of trees, perhaps a few hundred feet from the window where she stood were a pair of figures deep in conversation. At first Carla had supposed they were discussing the horse that stood partially hidden by their bodies. But as they moved, it became clear that there was something simply not right about what she was seeing if indeed they were a man, woman and a horse.

The man she could make out fairly well; white, tall and somewhat gangling in appearance he was smartly dressed without seeming formal and his body language radiated concern for the woman to whom he was talking.

It was that very woman and the horse that Carla had assumed she was either leading or sitting upon, that confused her. The woman was also tall, though not as tall as the man, and she was strikingly pretty even from such a distance with dark skin and her hair gathered in braids that cascaded down her back. Her horse was small, probably a pony and grey in colour although Carla could only make out its body while its head was hidden from view. That was the problem, she realised, and she could see the top half of the girl and the whole of the horse apart from its head. The girl's legs and the head of her pony were nowhere to be seen.

A second later the man moved no more than a few inches to the left and Carla realised that she was confused because she had been looking for something that was simply not there to be seen.

Below her waist, the body of the girl simply melted into that of the horse.

Carla turned to say something to Henry as he approached, but then she was seized by the thought of how she would feel if people clamoured to stare at her own altered form. She turned back to watch as the centaur and her companion made their way across the lawn, all too aware of the fact that soon she would be in the same position as the girl she was watching.

Morning coffee was something that would under normal circumstances have set Carla up for the day, waking her mind from the fog of sleep and getting her focussed on the day ahead of her. But the cup she was clutching in her hands had barely touched her lips in the time since it had been poured as her attention was centred on the face of the man who sat in a comfy chair opposite her own.

She had recognised his distinctive features as soon as she had entered the room and been invited to take a seat. Carla had never been troubled by poor eyesight and there was no mistaking that the man who had made her coffee and introduced himself as Dr Pickford, was the same man who she had seen the previous day as he spoke to the stunning female centaur on the lawn.

Though the man had a similarly pleasant Englishness to Henry, the fact that he seemed comfortable around creatures that had previously been the stuff of fairy tales as far as she was concerned lent him an air of mystery and made her feel slightly uneasy around him.

"I have to tell you that I'm quite looking forward to getting down to business in your case," Pickford took a sip of his own coffee, "if you'll forgive the forward nature of putting it that way."

"You have?" Carla was not sure if such enthusiasm was a good thing under the circumstances.

"Oh yes," Pickford nodded. "You see while I may have amassed what could be called a large body of work in this area, I always have a fondness for the mermaids that I have been asked to create. I see them as some of my best work and always find that they seem to be the happiest and well-adjusted to the change once the operation has been completed and they've had the time they need to recuperate."

"Doctor," Carla looked him in the eye. "I'm sure you know what you're doing and all. But I'm still more than a little scared by all of this...I mean, how am I supposed to handle becoming a mermaid?"

"It's different for everyone," Pickford placed a hand on her knee, "some of the patients that I've worked with embraced the change with gusto as soon as they saw themselves in a mirror, others needed time and a helping hand to come to terms with their altered situation. But I'm proud to say that we have never had a case of a patient being left in a position where they were unhappy with what we had done to them. I won't settle for anything less than you being happy as a mermaid or happy as you are right now."

"I have a choice?"

"Of course you do," Pickford looked surprised at her question. "I am aware of the more sensitive nature of your case and that's not something that I need to bother you with. Nevertheless, the same principles apply here as they always do. If you are not responding well in either a physical or mental sense to the transformation, I will not hesitate to reverse the procedure and refund the cost of the operation."

Carla seized on this new piece of information and tried to digest it as quickly as she was able. No one had mentioned for a moment the fact that the process was not permanent and she had simply assumed that there would be no way back once she had become a mermaid. But now Pickford had opened up a whole new world of possibilities and she was aware that her position was being made stronger by the combination of the doctor's good nature and the absence of Aubrey Lister's influence on the interview.

There was no way that she would risk trying to convince Pickford to cancel the procedure, there was too much at stake for herself and her family. Instead she stored away the knowledge that the doctor was able and under the right circumstances willing to turn her tail back into legs when the time came. In addition she noted Pickford as a potential ally in any battle against Lister's possession of her liberty, he seemed concerned for her as a patient and unlikely to sanction her transformation into a glorified pet intended only for sexual gratification.

The realisation that she was not being cast into a role little better than that of a slave served to bolster Carla's confidence. She decided that if she was secure in the knowledge that the change was not permanent and at least one of those wielding the scalpel was on her side then she could go on without trepidation and face the reality of life as a mermaid.

"That makes me feel a whole lot better," she smiled.

"I'm glad," she got the impression that Pickford was sincere in his words.

The doctor flicked through his papers and allowed Carla a moment to gather herself.

"Normally the patient has been filled in on a lot of the details beforehand and I'm simply answering questions and letting them know the agenda," Pickford shook his head. "But I understand that the gentleman who is probably best referred to as your sponsor in this matter has chosen to keep most of those details to himself?"

Carla nodded, Lister had been miserly with the information he provided to the point of paranoia.

"Well," he looked around the room and then back to Carla, "seeing as how he's on the other side of a rather large ocean and not in the room with us right now, I think we can dispense with his way and make up our own."

As she nodded for the second time, Carla began to think that she could get to like this man.

"Now the procedure as we've planned it will take a total of three days to complete and the changes that you will have to endure are quite serious. My responsibility will be for the first and second days, in which time I will be making the extensive alterations to your body that will essentially make you a mermaid in appearance. From there I will be handing over to my colleague, a fellow doctor by the name of Ward. His job will be to complete the smaller alterations that were specified in the contract and are not directly involved in the main operation."

"And those are?" Carla's mind was suddenly filled once more with the fear of Lister turning her into a pouting bimbo with an avalanche on cosmetic primping and inflation.

"I'm sorry," Pickford gave an exasperated sigh, "it's so easy to forget that you've been kept out of the loop in terms of the details." He thumbed through the papers he held, reading with some great speed before looking up at her again. "From what I can see here, it's nothing that should be a cause for concern. This type of surgery is not my forte, but it seems as though there's nothing planned that goes beyond a simple programme to rejuvenate the parts of your body that will not be affected by the main process of becoming a mermaid. Beyond a bit of nip and tuck and a little jab of Botox in a strategic spot, there are no major procedures planned."

"If you say so."

"Well, I had asked Dr Ward to be here in order to take you through what he'll be doing, but it seems that he's been unavoidably delayed. But as I say, there's nothing drastic in the file and you probably shouldn't worry about the matter overly."

"I'll try not to."

"That's probably for the best," Pickford's tone became conspiratorial. "Personally I can't see the need for any of this cosmetic nonsense. Don't think that I'm overstepping the mark by saying this, but I am always puzzled by the need that some people have to tamper with the signs of the passage of time when they seem to make no difference to the beauty of the subject. Were it up to me, I'd cancel all of these primping measures and leave you as I find you."

Carla gave him a smile at the compliment.

As she stood to leave the room, it occurred to her that it was probably a rare occurrence when a man who was about to turn your legs into a tail said he wouldn't change another thing about your body.

The sound of the door caused Pickford to glance up from his desk and make a vague show of recognition as Ward entered the room. It had been a good hour since Carla had left and he had given up all hope of seeing his colleague before he began the operation the next day.

"It would be nice for a patient to see you before you put on a surgical mask for once."

Ward laughed at the comment and sat down on the opposite side of the desk.

"I'd love to be able to make a meeting, but there are other demands on my time and you're so much better than me at that side of things. And besides, I'm only handling the minor details on this one so there's really no need for me to be involved."

"I suppose you have a point," Pickford conceded.

"Less reason for you to get involved like you always do as well," Ward raised his eyebrows. "Since she's not recuperating here, you could save yourself some bother and keep more of a distance this time around."

"Well, I'm still not really happy with that arrangement. I know the facilities that the sponsor has for her are adequate, but she'd do better adjusting to the changes here in an environment where we can monitor her closely and offer her the support that she needs."

"Support in the sense you were offering it to that rather exceptional girl we recently turned into a centaur?" Ward gave Pickford a look of mock scandal. "As I understand it, she won't let any of the other staff near her. And as for the reigns and halter, I didn't think you were that creative or that that way inclined at all!"

"Don't be vulgar," Pickford pointed a finger at his colleague. "You know that there's nothing unprofessional going on between myself and that woman. I've done nothing more than provide the help she needed."

"And what does Gillian think of that?" Ward grinned as the other man justified himself. "I'm sure that she's an expert on the help that you can offer."

"You leave her out of this."

"Okay," Ward raised his hands to signal that the game was over. "Just make sure you do a good job with this one. The sponsor wants us to make his fantasy come to life, not counsel a mermaid that's not right in the head."

"What he wants is not my primary concern," Pickford watched as his colleague stood and walked back to the door.

"Then you're lucky that it's mine," Ward was out of the door and gone before another word could be spoken.

Theatre gowns through the ages had never been designed with the dignity of the wearer in mind and Carla found that as she lay upon the table in the operating theatre, her thoughts were almost totally occupied by such meaningless concerns as whether or not she was being properly covered by the one she was wearing. The inability to focus on more serious issues might have been on account of the slow acting sedative she had been given to ease her into the operation, or perhaps her brain was trying to distract her from the reality of her situation in order to stop her from being overcome with fear and panic.

Whatever the cause, she was by that time starting to see her surroundings through a haze of pleasant confusion, as if the edges of her perception had been blurred and the gravity of what was going on around her simply evaporated like water beneath the rays of the sun.

She would have smiled at the absurdity of the situation, but she was too far gone with the effects of the drug to do anything more than watch. All these people busily making preparations for her, all of them thinking that she was going to turn into a mermaid if they played their part correctly.

How could they believe in crazy things like that?

Carla might not have counted herself as a genius, but even while drifting on a cloud of drug-induced delirium, she knew that there was no such thing as mermaids. She was vaguely worried that they might be disappointed when they realised she had legs and feet rather than a tail and fins, but it was a reality they would have to get used to, like it or not.

She wondered what time it was, how long before she would have to simply tell them that she was an ordinary woman who needed to make it to work on time. And anyway, if they made her into a mermaid then how would she even be able to get to work? The pedals of her car were intended for feet and not fins, and then there was the ridiculous mental image of her crawling from her parking space and into the office with her backside waggling and her tail dragging across the ground behind her. Could she use a wheelchair, or even her wheeled office chair to get about more easily?

And what about the club?

Carla supposed that she could as for a tank, which would get her attention from the customers.

No, it was all too silly for words and she would simply tell them that it was all pointless and be on her way.

At least she would as soon as she had taken a quick nap.

Carla closed her eyes and finally fell into a deep sleep as she lay on the operating table.

"Patient is under sedation," Pickford spoke for the formal record of the proceedings, his words being recorded by the microphones of the cameras that sat in strategic corners of the operating theatre. "Beginning stage one of the procedure."

While the doctor busied himself with a final check of his equipment, theatre assistants slipped the loose fitting gown from Carla's body. The ties at the back of the garment had been left undone and so the whole thing came away with no resistance, leaving her naked body exposed to the lights of the room.

Silent, sedated and totally still, it was apparent to anyone who cared to look at the evidence just what had made men like Aubrey Lister pay money to see Carla Largo move. Her figure could never have been described as slight, the curves and shape of her hips and the full weight of her buttocks might have been a near perfect hourglass. But neither could she have been described as heavy, with the smooth lines of her stomach and the well-defined length of her limbs as well. She possessed breasts that were in perfect proportion to her build and skin that seemed to have lost little of its glow as she passed the initial flush of youth.

She had been instructed to shower and cleanse herself thoroughly before the operation began, even submitting to a waxing session that had left her body naked of all unnecessary bodily hair. All in all she almost shone with the effects of the preparations she had been required to endure.

But all of those who were laying eyes upon her were there in a professional capacity, totally unmoved by the sight of her naked body and concerned only with the task at hand.

Pickford supervised a pair of his underlings as they slipped Carla's legs into a large bag made of strong and yet supple transparent plastic. The bag swallowed both legs until reaching to within an few inches of her groin, at which point it was gathered tightly around her thighs so that the rest of her body remained uncovered.

A flexible hose was attached to a socket in the neck of the bag an electric pump sucked the remaining air from the bag while a second hose began to pump in a thick, viscous liquid. Soon the interior of the bag was filled by the liquid, forcing Carla's legs to rise as they floated inside the bag.

Perhaps ten minutes has passed when Pickford gingerly pressed a finger into the surface of Carla's left leg, just below the seal of the bag. He watched intently after removing his finger, noting the fact that the impression of his fingertip remained indented upon her flesh long after it should have returned to its normal position. He made another small impression further down her legs and noted the same result. Where they had once been simple flesh and blood, Carla's legs now seemed to have taken on the texture of wet clay.